


The Exiles Ever After Book One: Bitter Sweet

by CornetHummy



Series: The Exiles Ever After [1]
Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Anachronism Stew, Anxiety, Baking, Bisexual Male Character, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Curses, Fantasy, Found Family Tropes, Fractured Fairy Tale, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Giants, Multi, Original Fiction, Pansexual Character, Past Abuse, Princes & Princesses, Snow White - Freeform, Talking Animals, Thumbelina - Freeform, Wolves, jack and the beanstalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 108,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8845735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornetHummy/pseuds/CornetHummy
Summary: Ezra Kettle, a baker down on his luck, is banished to the land far below his cloud-bound homeland for a crime he did not exactly commit. (It involved a beanstalk and a human kid with sticky fingers.) He'd rather avoid all the dangers of the human world and unlock the secrets of his family's recipes on his own. Instead, he finds himself entangled with the fates of a human handmaiden/jester/bodyguard with a lying problem, the scientifically oriented princess she serves, and an overzealous (but pretty cute) would-be Prince Charming who rides a bear. 
That's to say nothing of the malevolent fairies, big bad wolves, uplifted moth, dimension-crossing fairy markets, dangerous plants, enchanted custard, and some very unfortunate curses.





	1. The Center of the Universe

For Ezra’s 18th birthday, he treated himself to fresh pecan rolls and listened to a flute concert in the village square. For his 19th birthday he was exiled.  
  
Likely nobody realized the significance of the day he was sentenced to gather as many of his belongings as could fit on his back, climb onto the back of a saddled roc and let the roc driver carry him away from the Cloud Island of Mielle. No one was that intentionally cruel. Even the judge seemed to sympathize even as she ignored his pleas and protests. The elderly lawyer arguing on his behalf had set a bony hand on his shoulder and sighed, shaking his wig-clad head.   
  
“It’s just how people are, Mr. Kettle. This sort of thing doesn’t happen here. People need someone to blame.”  
  
Ezra was prone to travel sickness and promised himself he would not mingle it with spite as the enormous, red-feathered bird sailed through the atmosphere. He would rise above this. It was nothing but a setback, one of many the brilliant and misunderstood were likely to face in their lives. The more he reflected on how gracious it was of him to forgive the angry citizens in the jury, the better he felt about himself. Anything was a comfort in a time like this, when the cold, thin air stung his face and left him shivering in his too-light coat.  
  
“Didn’t bring a parka with you, laddie?” The roc driver was far too jovial and friendly to have ended up in the position she had, Ezra thought. Sammie, as the woman called herself, wore the heavy leathers and hooded mask of one used to braving the chilly winds; only her eyes were visible. She had a rather deep and throaty laugh. “Lucky for you the spring’s coming down there. Wouldn’t want you to freeze.”  
  
“Wouldn’t want me to freeze, would they? No, they’re just content to let me rot.” Ezra imagined he had nothing to lose by talking with this woman; he certainly couldn’t make a break for it on the back of a bird soaring over a valley.  
  
“S’not so bad! Not so bad at all. I’ve driven exiles in far worse states than you’re in, and they always make it. Usually, anyway. Weather’s a bit harsh, what with the rains. Oh, and you’ll have to get your land legs; that’ll take a bit. And plants take much longer to grow. And then there’s the humans…”  
  
“I know! I know. Thank you, ma’am. I did my research on the Center of the Universe in the time I had.” It was, Ezra thought, kind of them to give him a few days to prepare before he was banished. Considering the charges, he knew they didn’t even have to offer him that. Perhaps the judge was more merciful than she revealed.   
  
“My husband’s brother had a friend whose grandfather traveled to the Center of the Universe. Willingly! Old Kentammenon just hopped off onto a mountain peak and made his way down from there. Drank from the streams and ate the creatures he could catch.”   
  
Ezra blew on his hands to warm them better than his gloves were doing, and looked back up at the driver. “Did he? Was he a humanologist?”   
  
“Nay, he was up to his ears in debts!” Sammie laughed again, steering the roc into a sharper turn than Ezra cared for. “Read about diamond mines in the Center and thought he could make his fortune that way. Funny thing about diamond mines; dragons love ‘em. One bit his hand right off.”   
  
Ezra paled, covering his mouth. “Was that meant to be encouraging, ma’am?!”  
  
“You didn’t let me finish, laddie! He knocked that dragon upside the head and took it down with one blow. The little human folk were so impressed, one of ‘em gave him a job with a traveling show. Kent made his fortune that way, and he didn’t have the sense The Sun gave a baby buzzard.” Sammie looked over her shoulder briefly, and he thought he saw her wink. “With all those books, I’d guess you to be a scholar. Am I right, laddie?”  
  
Ezra tugged the pack of books, jars and cooking pots tighter over his shoulder, even if it strained his back. “I’m a cook, actually.”   
  
“Then those are recipes?!”  
  
“They’re family heirlooms. The recipes, I mean.” Ezra now felt rather foolish having brought them instead of more important necessities, but he couldn’t abide leaving his pride behind with what was left of his family home. “It’s a way to make a living.”  
  
The pilot just shrugged. “Long as the humans know you don’t want to cook any of them. They get strange ideas in their heads about we Sky Folk. Comes from living so far from the sun. Makes the body puny and the brain odd.” She tapped the side of her head, and then whistled. “Alright, girl! We’re almost there, so time to bring her in!”  
  
The descent was far too quick for Ezra’s stomach; he barely realized what had happened until the bird reared back and landed in a cluster of great tall fir trees that towered far over his head and brought to mind thick hair brushes. They were standing at the bottom of a rocky cliff covered with lichens and green moss. Ezra wondered at first if Sammie had stopped here in order to let the bird rest and drink from a stream, but she looked expectantly at him over her shoulder.  
  
“Well, laddie? This is it!”  
  
“This…what? What do you mean, this is it?”   
  
“The Center of the Universe. We’re standing on it. It’s quite big, you know! A huge marble covered with things. You need help getting that down? Noticed you’re a little on the short side…”  
  
Ezra shook his head, dumbfounded. “No, I can get down just fine.” Despite his reassurances, he had to take a few false steps and then more tumbled than dismounted from the roc. His bag followed after, spilling cookbooks and pots all over the too-hard, too-damp surface of the forest.   
  
He scrambled to recover his belongings and save them from the mud before he continued, gesturing all around him. “I know it’s the Center of the Universe! I read about it, remember? So I know this is a forest. But I was told I’d be sent to somewhere I could make a living. Like a town, perhaps.”  
  
“A town? Full of humans? Can’t believe you’d take that kind of chance after what happened when you trusted one of them.”   
  
The memory stung, and Ezra sucked in a breath.   
  
Sammie continued, oblivious, as she dismounted the roc and landed with far more grace. “Doesn’t help that some of the Folk down here feel the need to throw their weight around and give us a bad name. You know what sorts get exiled and all. No offense meant to present company,” she added while ignoring Ezra’s glower. “Word of advice, stay away from the wee humans. They won’t trust you and you’d best not return the favor. Cook for yourself from what you can hunt and forage. Maybe sell some cakes to the local witches in exchange for charms and chicken eggs. They’re not afraid of anyone.”   
  
The last of the line of Kettle, chefs who shaped custards out of lightning and soups littered with stardust, and he was to spend the rest of his life in oblivion in the woods eating nettle stew because of some overgrown beanstalk. “Where am I to live, then?” he asked, no longer attempting to hide the defeat in his voice. “I was told I’d be given a place to live.”  
  
“And thankful you should be for that! Usually they just send you on your way with your belongings and let you do as you will. But I suppose you’re not yet two decades old so they had some mercy. You’re to live right there.” Sammie pointed to a path through the crooked trees.   
The canopy of the forest dimmed the sunlight even at high noon; what escaped fell upon a dilapidated, one-floor cabin with a tiled roof staying on apparently through willpower alone. The tiny shapes of birds nested in the windowsills, and an overgrown mess that might once have been a garden crowded around a stone well.   
  
“…Oh.” Ezra wondered if he shouldn’t be thankful it wasn’t a cave.   
  
“This used to belong to a fellow by the name of Chulainn the Great. Bit of a cranky sort as he got older, and the humans started calling him a wicked giant. Get used to hearing that, by the way. Humans think they’re normal-sized. Anyway, it’s got furniture and a stove; ought to serve you just fine, though I’d get it fixed up some before winter. Suppose you could find yourself another place if you wanted. The Center of the Universe is your prison, not that house. Well! I suppose this is goodbye…”  
  
Sammie moved to slap Ezra on the back, but then seemed to notice the way he was staring at the lonely little cottage. Her eyes creased in sympathy, and she gave him a pat on the shoulder instead. “You’re younger than my daughter. I think it is unfair what they did decide for you, laddie. But…”  
  
“It’s for the best, I know. Public good. People feel safer when there’s someone to blame.” Ezra sighed and started walking towards the cottage. “Thank you for the transport, ma’am.”  
  
“You’ll be fine. The young always thrive better. Just…do be careful who you open your door to, won’t you?”  
  
He looked over his shoulder with a rueful smile. “Oh, no worries. I intend to be very careful about that from now on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this is a serialized fiction story I've been posting over on Jukepop Serials and Wattpad. (You can find the Jukepop link in my profile if you want to start reading ahead.) I'm going to start cross-posting it here, probably in chunks. If you enjoy it, let me know what you think!


	2. A Bit About the Incident

The human’s name had been Jack.  
  
If one was to ask any given resident of the Cloud Island of Mielle, one would hear a story about how that resident’s sister worked for a jeweler who was married to a peach farmer whose great grandmother had seen five humans in her time. There were the gold and black-clad merchants who traveled down to the human cities, their rocs carrying down baskets of blue Heavenly Apples and fabric woven from crystallized sunbeam and returning with furs, minerals and meat on slabs of ice. But the masked merchants were a society unto themselves, as secretive and closed off from the citizens of Mielle as the were to their wealthy human customers below.   
  
But for one of the Sky Folk outside of that profession to see a human in the flesh was rare indeed. There were laws on the books forbidding it, supposedly the result of conflicts and non-aggression treaties too old for anyone to remember, but they were seen as artifacts. It was like declaring it illegal for the moon to fall from the sky. The merchants searched their wares for stowaways with the same care they examined marbled meat. For reasons nobody quite understood, the rocs apparently wouldn’t listen to humans who tried to tame them the way Sky Folk pilots had. Unless humans learned how to fly, they couldn’t access the soft, gray terrain of the Cloud Islands which drifted lazily over the water and terrain of the Center of the Universe where the diminutive beings lived.   
  
So Ezra thought of humans the way most of his kind did-not much at all, except as a distant source of goods found only on the land. Certainly he had dreams of attaining the heights of fame to match elder Kettles of the past, masters at their craft who were said to have made wedding cakes for empresses and the nearly impossible 40 Blackbird Pie for human kings. (Humans had those sorts of ranks, he’d been told.) But he wouldn’t meet those empresses or kings. It just wasn’t done.  
  
Besides, he had enough to worry about on a daily basis. He could not be sure he heard whispers and saw heads shaking in pity in the corner of his vision when he walked around the circular market to pick up flour and sugar, but he’d grown so used to them that perceived them almost constantly. Once in a while he’d walk past a conversation between a tailor wearing her brightly-clad goods and a tinkerer, and over the bang of pots and swish of translucent satin he’d hear snatches of “…grandmother told me their works were quite impressive” and “really a shame, but it let it be a lesson to you, I say.” They would avoid eye contact as he passed by.  
  
That was to be expected, he would tell himself, and hold his head at a proper angle while being sure not to spill a single drop of milk or grain of flour. The Kettle name was no longer respectable, and the man to whom he was indentured was. So anything Ezra did would be attributed to the moral decline of past generations; Hamilton Tooth was merely ‘unpleasant, but one cannot ignore his talent,’ as many would say. Tooth was the one who sold the glazed fruit tarts and wedding cakes now, though for a less grand audience.  
  
Ezra was not making a wedding cake the fateful night he opened the door for the human. He was working late into the night, hair tied back and face splotched with flour, kneading wheat dough to be baked in the morning. His master had thrown out the last batch in a drunken rage, declaring it ‘sour’ without even looking at it. Hamilton Tooth’s snoring still sent the walls shaking, and Ezra did his best to ignore it. No matter how far gone Master Tooth might have been in dreamland listening to that damned harp, he’d always manage to wake up at the worst moment and blame his apprentice for it.   
  
So loud was the snoring that Ezra almost didn’t hear the faint, hoarse call right outside the door. All he could make out was ‘let me in!’  
  
Letting the dough fall to the flour-covered table and wiping his hands off on his apron, Ezra stood up to listen. There it was again, plaintive and exhausted. Was that person in danger? And if they were, why would they go to a bakery?  
  
Hesitantly, Ezra opened the front door a crack. He winced at the groan of the wood, but Master Tooth remained asleep. “I’m afraid we’re closed at this hour,” he whispered. “But you can…hello?”  
  
There was nobody there. Not in front of him, at least; the town was as dead as one might expect it to be so close to midnight, the only light coming from the full moon and a few candle-lit windows.   
  
Ezra let out a breath and scowled. “I’m being pranked again,” he muttered. “Some brat’s probably going to steal a pie from the windowsill. Which means…”   
  
Something ran past Ezra, something that reached just past his thigh and about to his waist.  
At first Ezra thought it might have been a small child, but the thing moved far too quickly for a toddler’s wobbly gait and the shape was all wrong. It certainly wasn’t a large vulture, even if the tattered cloak it wore suggested it. Ezra shut the door behind him and grabbed a candle, holding it up to try to find the thing.  
  
“…Hello? Who are you? Whatever you are, you can’t be here!”  
  
A bundle of rags in the corner moved and slowly emerged. As the first layer of rags fell away, it became apparent that he was looking at a very small person with black hair and freckled skin, thin and underfed-looking. They barely moved, gawking up at Ezra. While Ezra couldn’t discern the being’s gender, their proportions suggested someone a few years younger than Ezra himself.   
  
“You’re a human, aren’t you.” It sounded ridiculous the moment he spoke the words, yet he knew immediately what he was seeing. Ezra very slowly knelt down onto one knee in order to better address the intruder face to face, realizing he probably loomed in comparison. “There, is this better?”  
  
The human slowly nodded and took a step closer. The voice that came out sounded male and young, hoarse and exhausted. “You’re all so big.”  
  
“I know what it’s like to be loomed over.” Ezra was on the short side; Master Tooth most definitely was not. “But you can’t be here. I mean, you really can’t! How did you even get up here? You didn’t steal away in a roc basket, did you? It’s just…this is unprecedented.”  
  
The boy shook his head, still reluctant to get any closer. “Climbed a beanstalk, sir.”  
  
“A…beanstalk?” There were beanstalks climbing through gardens throughout the Island. They were bigger than the kind that grew on the land, but not by that much.   
  
“Magic beanstalk,” the boy said as if to explain it all. “Old man sold me the beans.”  
  
“Ah. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that.” Ezra rubbed his temples, trying not to dwell on the implication that humans could apparently grow ladders to the heavens out of plants. “Well, you’re here either way. This is…really pretty incredible. A human…! I don’t suppose you have any recipes you wish to share from the Center of the Universe?”  
  
“The Center of the…What?”  
  
“Nevermind. I just thought I’d ask. I’m a cook. Ezra Kettle.” Ezra extended a hand for a handshake, then remembered he had to crouch down again for it to be of any use to the boy. The human shook several of his fingers awkwardly.   
  
“You’re not going to cook me, are you…?”  
  
“…Cook you!?” Ezra remembered the fateful snoring of the Walking Mountain himself down the hall and covered his mouth, repeating himself in a more hushed tone. “Cook you, lad? What sort of creatures do you take us for? We don’t eat humans! You’re intelligent and you’ve got…a face. I mean cows do too, but it’s not the same. What’s your name?”  
  
The ragged boy shuffled his feet. “Jack. I’m Jack Nimble.”  
  
“Jack.” Ezra stood up again and started pacing, giving a worried glance down the hall. “Look. My boss, well, my Master is asleep right now after having drained half the wine stores as usual. If he wakes up and see you, I can’t guarantee he wouldn’t try to bake you in a pie or turn you into bread filling out of sheer sport. I’ve got to put up with him until my family’s debts are paid, but there’s no need for a human to…” He squinted at Jack, noticing the boy’s hollow cheeks.  
  
Sighing, he reached onto a rack and pulled out one of the golden egg custard tarts that hadn’t sold the day before. It was small enough to fit in the palm of Ezra’s chubby hand, its metallic sheen and sugary glaze glinting in the moonlight, but Jack took it eagerly with both hands. He stared up at Ezra in wonder.  
  
“I can eat it, sir? I mean…is this food?”  
  
Ezra rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course! Consider it a free sample.” He sat down at the table and sighed, glancing alternately between the lump of bread dough and Jack eating the tart as if it were a king’s feast. Had it been his own recipe, Ezra thought, Jack would be brought to joyful tears with one taste; then again, he reminded himself, the very hungry rarely had discerning palates. “Listen, Master Nimble. I’m serious when I say you can’t be found when my master wakes up. I’ll give you someplace to sleep nice and hidden, and in the morning I’ll tell him I need to pick something up from the market and bring you to the constables. They’ll send you home with one of the merchants and take care of that beanstalk thing.”   
  
“Won’t be necessary, sir. I can climb back down on my own.” Jack had already finished off half the tart, though he was starting to slow. “Never had something like this! Is there really gold in it? Do giants eat gold?”  
  
“Shh, keep your voice down! It’s…well, the goose lays eggs like that. I don’t think there’s really gold in it. The yolks just look gold and taste sweet on their own. Nobody bred Golden Egg Geese like the Kettle line.” Ezra held his nose up proudly for just a moment before a thundering snore reminded him of his situation. “Well, we did, anyway.” There was no need to explain the technicalities of family debts to a human boy who had bigger problems to deal with.  
“Did you lose your geese?”  
  
“We lost our fortune. It’s a long story and I won’t burden you with it. Everything in the Kettle name belongs to Hamilton Tooth now, including my foreseeable future ‘til I work off those debts. But never you mind that. I’m learning the craft and I’m more than well fed as you can see; would be petty of me to wish for more.” Ezra imagined the more he told himself that, the less resentful he’d feel. “And whatever kind of person Master Tooth is, he’s talented and productive. So the rest doesn’t really matter, or shouldn’t…”  
  
Jack licked the last of the tart off his fingers and leaned back against the cupboard, sighing and looking distant. “We lost our cow. We lost everything else too, but I really loved that cow…”   
Ezra felt shame burning his cheeks. “See? This is what I mean! You don’t need me burdening you with my problems. But-but think of it this way. You can go back down and brag that you were able to reach the Sky Islands on your own. Get some of the beans growing off that beanstalk and sell ‘em and make yourself rich. There’s plenty of glory to be found for you now! Just…not here in this miser’s house. I wouldn’t trust him not to do something awful and…” He shuddered, imagining Tooth looming like a hairy old mountain over poor Jack. “You need anything else to eat? I know you’re small, but it was just one egg tart…”  
  
Jack shook his head. “If I eat more I’ll be too sleepy. Don’t like staying still long.”  
  
“Well, you moved fast enough to sneak into Hamilton Tooth’s bakery. That’s something. He catches birds that sneak in with glue traps and has me bake ‘em in pies. He’d be spitting mad if he found out I let you in.” Ezra caught himself smiling despite himself (and the misfortune he’d face should just that event occur) and cleared his throat. “Fair enough. I’ll just let you rest in the supply closet. Sun and Moon know he never sets a foot in there if he can send me instead to…”  
  
He fell silent as the dulcet tones of a soft, androgynous voice echoed from Tooth’s room. The harp was awake again, singing its wordless, discordant song that fell somewhere between a voice and the pluck of strings. Ezra shuddered; he hated the way it sounded.  
  
“Just ignore that damned thing. Master Tooth doesn’t believe me when I say it turns on by itself, but you hear it. At least it’ll keep my master out better than the wine will…”   
  
But Jack wasn’t listening to Ezra. He was standing up alert, staring off in the direction of the song. “What is that, sir?”  
  
“It’s a harp. Just a harp. Apparently that’s one of his family’s heirlooms. It’s got some kind of mechanism that causes it to play and sing on its own. Damned if I know how it works but I’m no tinker. Ghastly awful thing with this grinning face, but that overgrown lout can’t get enough of the stupid toy. Claims it makes the wine taste sweeter and the money shine brighter or something.” Ezra spoke quickly, unnerved as always by that damned song. “As if having money isn’t enough! But this is a fine chance to get you into the closet; he won’t hear me shuffling around here over that Moon-damned noise. Jack, are you listening?”  
  
Jack had a glazed-over look in his eyes, and Ezra told himself it was just from eating too much sugar on an empty stomach. The human boy nodded up at Ezra, who led him into the supply closet and hid him behind bags of salt and flour. He was eerily complacent; perhaps, Ezra thought, the boy was just exhausted after his ordeal.  
  
“Just be sure to stay still and try not to snore,” Ezra told his guest. “We’ll see about that beanstalk mess in the morning. Goodnight, Jack.”   
  
“Goodnight, Mr. Kettle.” Jack had a peaceful smile on his face, and Ezra set himself at ease. There was nothing dangerous about a human, certainly not one so young. They were just smaller people, and this one had enough problems to deal with. And a harp, he reminded himself, was just a harp.   
  
He worked late into the night to make up for the time he’d lost, and didn’t get to sleep for another two hours. When he did he slept like the dead, not even dreaming.  
  
The next morning he woke to find the closet door open, with both Jack and Master Tooth nowhere to be seen. The back door was hanging off its hinges and the garden had been trampled, footsteps digging into the soft, grey cloud terrain and stomping rotten blue apples into mush. The hutch where the Golden Egg Goose lived was empty, and the harp was missing. There was already a crowd gathering behind the bakery, whispering and staring at Ezra.  
  
Within the hour the constable arrived to arrest him for aiding in the murder of Hamilton Tooth, who lay dead on the surface of the Center of the Universe near the root of an impossibly huge fallen beanstalk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to be posting a chapter or two twice a week until this story's caught up with its Jukepop posting. That way I'm not dumping a whole bunch of chapters at once.


	3. Meet Marjorie, Who Lived Rent Free Until Now

Ezra was astonished at how blank he felt as he fiddled with the key he’d found waiting for him on the porch steps. None of it felt real, and it was all being drowned out by the more immediate sensations around him. The air was filled with fragrances sweet and earthy, nothing like the yeast and frosting he’d smelled day in and day out in his former life. The ground didn’t give under his feet the way he expected, nor did it ripple gently the way the Island would as it sailed through the sky. It threw off his balance, and he had to lean on the cracked wooden doorway to regain his bearings.   
  
He suspected the horror of it all would strike him sooner or later, fall upon him like sacks of flour from above. That was how horrors tended to go; they were kind enough to give one a period of numb denial in which reality felt theoretical. He thought he ought to take advantage of the shock to unpack what few belongings he’d brought while he had the chance.   
  
“I mean, I should feel something, right?” Ezra supposed talking to oneself was a fine habit to develop when one was living alone, and now was a fine time to start. “He’s…dead. It’s awful to feel relieved that someone was dead even if that person was awful themselves. Isn’t it? I mean, not on my worst, but…”  
  
The Moon is a trickster, so went the myth, and if She hears one take delight in the suffering of an enemy She will cast upon one a worse fate. Thus it had become common to say ‘not that I would wish that on my worst enemy’ when one could not otherwise sympathize or mourn. Over time it had become ‘not on my worst.’ Ezra found himself saying it more frequently than he liked to admit when it came to Hamilton Tooth.   
  
“He’s dead, and I’m not much better off. I’d almost think he did it on purpose! Found a way to make even his death ruin my life. Well, I won’t let it! Well, that’s the attitude I’d like to take. When I have more willpower…”  
  
Looking around the cottage revealed wooden furniture, much of it covered in dust and cobwebs. Creatures that moved too fast to be identified skittered out of the way, some out the window and another up into the roof. He lowered himself carefully into a rocking chair that was both too tall for him and felt too unstable to support the weight of a child, and sat there with his head in his hands.   
  
He felt a brief itch on the back of his hand; he looked at it just in time to see the large moth which had landed on him flutter away in panic. “Oh, right. There are ‘insects’ down here too. I’ll have to get used to that…”   
  
The feeling of something having landed on him left him antsy, and he went back to unpacking. There, hidden carefully inside of his pack and protected by layers of cloth, were two wrapped packages. He carefully set them on the counter without unwrapping them. Inside were the last two things he’d ever been allowed to bake he departed-two perfectly golden brown, cheese and mushroom pies. He still had the Kettle pastry dough recipe, which he supposed should come as a comfort   
  
“Not a single one of them came to see me off! None of them even contested my trial. Was that really what they thought of me? Were they just too fond of the story going around about Ezra Kettle striking back on behalf of his family by colluding with a human murderer and thief?! It was just a show for them.” There was something exhilarating about shouting instead of whispering for once, knowing it would echo in the woods and no one of consequence would hear it. Hamilton Tooth could do nothing more to him; he had nothing left to take away, and Tooth was dead. “Just a show for them. First murder trial in decades and resolved in a matter of days. As if any of them weren’t just as happy to see Tooth go…!”  
  
The worst had been the looks of gentle, but distant pity. What a shame, he’d heard them whisper to one another. For the Kettles to have fallen so far, such a shame! But we should have expected it. What would the Kettle boy have left other than jealousy?  
  
He realized there were tears in his eyes, and blushed from the embarrassment even knowing no one was around. “Well, fine. It’s mine, anyway. Isn’t it? This little pile of wood. Perhaps this is just what I need. Hard work and isolation, and finally a chance to decipher those recipes. They’ll regret sending me away when I’m more prestigious than any of them could hope to be. Trying to sour the name of Kettle like that…! Serves them right. I have the whole Center of the Universe to explore! If I ever somehow develop the urge to travel. And I’m alone…!”  
  
Something rustled behind the bedroom door.   
  
Ezra froze in mid-chair rock, listening. There it was again; a rustling of cloth. Raccoons, he told himself; unsanitary, but they could be dealt with. A bear was a less pleasant possibility. He’d eaten bear meat before, finding it tough and unpleasant, but even the Sky Folk would whisper in awe over what sort of creature would produce that much meat and claws that big.   
  
Tension clung to that idea and he became increasingly certain there was a family of bears hiding in his bedroom, or possibly a small dragon. Dragons liked caves, didn’t they? Was there really that much difference between a cave and a one story cottage? He stood slowly to his feet, holding his big cooking pot in both hands just in case he needed a blunt object to defeat the bears.   
  
The bedroom door gave easily, though it creaked in protest. What he saw when he opened it nearly caused him to drop the cooking pot.  
  
 Unlike the rest of the cottage, the bedroom was perfectly clean and the wood in good repair. There was a tiny pot cooking over the fireplace; Ezra smelled onions and mushrooms. Glass ornaments hung on strings, colorful orbs glinting in the light of the fireplace and an oil lamp. On a clean wooden crate sat a remarkably detailed doll house, a meticulously painted two-story affair which would have been far too small for even a Sky child’s toy. A larger glass orb sat on another, filled with water and housing a brightly-colored fish swimming idly about. A white fur rug sat on the floor next to the bed, a luxurious affair built for two Sky folk and laden with quilts.  
  
The sound he’d heard had been scraping wood; specifically, it had been the sound of the black-haired human whittling away at a work desk made of more crates, apparently oblivious to him.  
Unsure of how to approach a situation like this one, he cleared his throat and remained standing in the doorway.  
  
She turned around, peered up at him through the hair falling in her face, regarding him with jet-black eyes, and then yawned. “So, you’re back. You don’t mind that I redecorated here, do you darling? Cobwebs just aren’t my style.”  


* * *

‘Ah well,’ Marjorie thought as she looked at the giant looming over her. ‘It’s been a fine run, and I like to think I did my best when it suited me. I probably should have expected something, taking over a giant’s cabin.’  
  
Accordingly, she gave the giant the most calm and relaxed look she could manage. “Well, if you’re going to smash me with that pot you ought to get it over with.”  
  
“Smash you with…I wouldn’t do that!” The giant set the cast iron cooking pot aside and went back to staring down at her. He was a chubby, stout sort with messy black hair and light brown skin, dressed in a loose-fitting coat and baggy pants. He also appeared to be half-panicked; the overall impression Marjorie got was one of a large, nervous sheepdog.   
  
“But,” he continued, “but you’re in my house. Or, this house I’m supposed to live in now. I was told it was vacant. And you’ve…and this is all…are you a witch?”  
  
Marjorie lifted a lock of hair from her eyes, raising an eyebrow. This was a new development.  
“You’re not G. Chulainn? That was the name on the front door.”  
  
“His name’s still on the door? And no! No no no no. He’s dead. I think so, anyway. I hope they didn’t send me to take over his house.” The large youth shuddered, sitting down on the armchair next to the bed and blinking in surprise when he did. “Oh, this is a lot more comfortable…”  
  
“Do you like it? I couldn’t do much about the inconvenient size of the furniture. Inconvenient for me, I mean. I hardly intend to imply there is anything inconvenient about the natural size of your kin! But this was all present when I got here. Honest. All of this was, save for the dollhouse and the fish. And obviously myself. I hope you don’t mind what I did with the place. It desperately needed a clean. And let me tell you, when you’re too small for the furniture cleaning is quite an adventure!” This was her way of saying, ‘you had better appreciate how I’ve been living rent-free in your home as if I own the place.’  
  
“It’s very nice,” the giant agreed as he sank into the armchair. She could see now that he was a bit on the short side compared to the cabin’s previous inhabitant, as he looked much smaller in the chair. “The rug is a nice touch. So all of this used to belong to G. Chulainn? But the kitchen is…and the garden…oh bother. I can’t worry about it now.” He rested his head on his hand. “I don’t know how you managed to scrub all the dust and cobwebs off. I already found a dead wasp nest in the kitchen, or at least I hope it’s…wait.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait, I’m getting off topic. You’re in my house and apparently made a castle room of my sleeping quarters. Why? And I repeat, are you a witch?”  
  
Well, it was nice being able to distract him while it lasted. Marjorie sighed and lay back on the over-sized pillow. “My life would be much more convenient if I were a witch, young man! I confess, you would call me a squatter. I had no idea this house belonged to anyone anymore, and it was clear G. Chulainn hadn’t been by in quite some time. You see, things had gone a bit sour back home.”  
  
“Sour?”  
  
How best to explain this. “Imagine a maiden, innocent and pure of heart, targeted by those she ought to trust and driven from her home with almost no one to turn to.” Marjorie was sure to keep her voice properly sorrowful and plaintive, and her eyes downcast. “If you were that girl, you’d seek a safe place too. Even if it was a very big safe place…”  
  
She paused to gauge a reaction, and saw the giant staring wide-eyed at her. Good, so he either believed her or thought she was mad. She could work with both options.  
  
As he said nothing to interrupt her, she continued. “So you understand why a girl would flee into the Blue Forest. Granted,” she added quickly, “I am not exactly that girl in question. But I’m in the business of helping her and that’s what’s got me kicked out of court. Did I mention I held a position at court? Quite enviable, and-”  
  
The young man squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I’m sure it was. I can’t really keep up with your...Blue Forest?”  
  
“Stay around long enough and you’ll figure out why it’s called that. But, at any rate! When things go south, sometimes you’ve got no choice but to go where no one will find you, reassess and figure out what to do next.”   
  
“I think I understand that,” the giant said with a frown and a distant look right past Marjorie. “More than you’d know. So you fled here to a Sky Folk-built shack and moved into the bedroom?”  
  
“I don’t know how to build a house myself, and I wasn’t exactly in a place to be picky. Abandoned cottage is abandoned cottage. And I need ed a private place to do my work, for my lady’s sake.”   
  
“And just the bedroom.”   
  
“Why it’s as big as a small house to me!” Marjorie laughed. “You’ve got to look at things from another perspective, my lar-tall friend.” She realized ‘large’ might be construed as a dig against his weight. Did giants think of themselves as gigantic? She’d heard of a few wanderers who bragged about their enormous size, but this one kept using the term ‘Sky Folk.’   
  
If he was from one of the cloud cities, she was more in luck than she thought.   
  
The giant blushed and coughed into his fist. “I didn’t mean to cause offense. Not used to talking with, erm, humans. Only did it once. Anyway, I do feel for you. But this is my house now. It’s no longer a vacant place you can just ‘squat.’ If I could give it up to you and move to town I would! But I’m told that’s inadvisable?”  
  
Marjorie considered. “Yes, that’d cause quite a fuss.” Still, this giant was a stubborn one! Perhaps he’d react to the damsel act.  
  
“Of course, if you want me to leave I understand completely. I will just pick up my things and go. Alone. Into the forest. Which is absolutely crawling with bears, might I say. And witches. Some of the witches can even turn themselves into bears. Terrible place for a girl to wander around alone.”  
  
She gave the giant the most pitiable look she could manage, only to see him return it with one of disbelief and skepticism.  
  
“Fine.” Marjorie rolled her eyes. “Let’s try a different tactic. Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why I’m carving miniatures and blowing glass in the middle of nowhere?” She held up her latest project to demonstrate, a tiny and detailed round table. “And where I could have gotten fine linens, and where I’m getting my food? And the fish?”  
  
The giant frowned. “I…was curious about that, yes. Exceedingly so. That’s why I assumed you were a witch.”  
  
“Don’t know much about witches up there, do you? No, no. Not a speck of magic in so much as my fingernail. But how’s this for a deal.” Marjorie leaned forward, leaning her tall, lanky frame against her work desk. “You let me stay here as long as I like, and I show you my secret. It’s a secret that could be very useful to someone like you who’s just starting out here.”  
  
The young giant still appeared reluctant, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You mean give up my bedroom in a place that’s not very big to begin with, for some kind of ‘secret?’”  
  
Marjorie blew out her nose. Perhaps he wanted more immediate benefits. “And I’ll help you clean the other part so it’s more livable.”  
  
“Okay, fine. Done. But-but remember!” He pointed a big finger down at her. “I have had my trust broken by humans before, and if it happens again I’ll-I’ll-” His eyes were wide and his hand was shaking, and he couldn’t quite look Marjorie in the eye.   
  
That, Marjorie told herself, is a boy who has never tried to give a serious threat before in his entire life and doubts he could go through with it even now.  
  
“Done! I shall live up to your trust, young master.” She gave a low curtsy. “Allow me to introduce myself first. Marjorie Snow, former court jester.”  
  
“Ezra Kettle,” he muttered. “I suppose ‘cook’ works for now, though I’m not sure that-wait, jester?!”  
  
“Ah,” Marjorie jumped in before he could ask further questions, “shh! No time to worry about little details, my tall and generous friend! We have to prepare ourselves for tonight.”  
  
“Tonight? But what’s tonight?!”  
  
“The reason that this place is called the Blue Forest. Drink some tea to keep yourself up and don’t exhaust yourself cleaning too much!” She peered up at him again through her curls to make sure he was paying close attention with those big, gold eyes of his. “Tonight, we go to the Moonflower Market.” 


	4. The Princess of the Flower Folk

At times the laboratory grew unbearably claustrophobic. It seemed shameful for one born in caverns to experience a fear of tight spaces, but somehow the knowledge that there was a greater, wide space beyond the thin walls of her temporary home made something in Philomene itch far beneath her skin. It kept her restless, so she worked as quickly as her back would allow to keep herself focused.  
  
It was her own fault, she knew, letting her chambers grow so cluttered. She just couldn’t turn down any of the treasures Marjorie brought back from the Market, even if most of them proved to be magically worthless. The petal of a deep blue flower hung over one window, tinting the light streaming through a sharp violet. The skull of a mouse sat upon the dresser, gleaming white and grinning in a way that made the beast seem fearsome even in death. Twice she’d nearly tripped over something, foolishly risking further injury at a time when she knew she wouldn’t have access to the palace doctor. She only had enough energy to spend her time researching or tidying up, and organizing her “summer home,” as Marjorie had jokingly put it, wasn’t a priority.  
  
The mirror helped. A great, jagged shard leaning against the wall of the bedroom-turned-laboratory, it bore a red tinge to it suggesting it had once been activated by blood magic. Even if she hadn’t the distaste for it, Philomene Marl Thumbelina doubted she had enough blood to spare to appease it. Instead she’d learned how to activate it with a chant uttered in the right cadence and tone. It seemed to like rhymes.  
  
Without magic texts, she had to rely on trial-and-error. It certainly kept her busy.  
  
She looked into the mirror with a frown, sitting on the wooden spool she used as a chair and letting her seashell-shaped dress fall around her as she set her cane aside. Her contact had been quiet for some time, and that always worried her. It wasn’t that Marjorie was under a great deal of threat or danger, though the forest was said to be full of enormous wolves and ravenous bears. There were other things to be concerned about when it came to Marjorie.   
  
She sighed and sang a lilting tune. “Broken mirror, ‘gainst the wall. You know who, give her a call.”   
  
Like liquid metal, Philomene’s reflection warped into a puddle of lavender before displaying a red glass jewel. Philomene had not figured out how to make the mirror display more than still images, but it could at least transmit sound. The jewel flickered as Marjorie’s voice came over from the other line, low and husky as usual.  
  
“Your Highness? Is everything alright in there? Nothing amiss?”  
  
Philomene shook her head even knowing Marjorie couldn’t see it, dark braids entwined with violet ribbons falling in her face. “I felt a little tremor earlier and thought I heard thunder for some time, but you know I’m perfectly safe in here. And you’re one to worry me and then sound alarmed when I call! Where have you been? It’s been hours.”  
  
“Ah, yes. I apologize, Highness. It was, there was…” The red jewel was still for a moment. “Oh, there’s no delicate way to put it. The owner of the house returned.”  
  
“…Oh.” Philomene felt herself deflate a bit. “Well, then. That would explain the thunder and the tremors. I suppose I should prepare us for another move. I can secure everything in a matter of a few hours…” She could already sense how sore she’d be after that much work in so little time, but she knew Marjorie couldn’t really help her. And everything had to be secured; her research couldn’t be compromised by a potentially dangerous escape through the forest. There was no evidence a Sky Island giant would be hostile to a Flower Folk princess, but why take the risk?  
  
“No, no! You misunderstand. He’s not G. Chulainn. She? Well, I don’t know whether G. Chulainn was a he or a she but he, the host, is not G. Chulainn.”  
  
“…This is good news?”   
  
“This is fantastic news! He’s a giant indeed, but there seems to be a heart of gold underneath all that bulk. Or maybe bread dough. Marshmallow candy. The sum of it is we can stay, and I’ve even convinced him to let us keep the bedroom.”   
  
Philomene raised an eyebrow at this. It wasn’t that she couldn’t buy the idea of a gentle giant; while she only knew giants in an abstract sense as something great and distant, the sprite princess was well acquainted with large, benevolent beings. It just seemed a bit too easy to be true. And it wasn’t that she suspected trickery on the part of a giant, who would have no reason to hide his nature if he had the famed strength of his kind.   
  
“Marjorie.”   
  
Marjorie knew that tone right away, it seemed. “I didn’t trick him!”  
  
“Marjorie.”  
  
“I was honest with him. I even admitted I was in a perilous situation, and I didn’t make up any stories this time.”  
  
Philomene cleared her throat. “Marjorie Muller of the House of Fallen Snow.” The full name was a sharp weapon to wield, one Philomene had learned from her own mother. She didn’t like using it lightly, especially not on her best friend.  
  
It did seem to work, as Marjorie mock-whimpered on the other end of the mirror. “I may not have mentioned your presence here. It’s possible I neglected to mention it yet. I mean, why burden him with information that’s of no use to him and will just add to his woes?”  
  
‘She means well,’ Philomene told herself as she took a deep breath, feeling blood rush to her face out of frustration. ‘She was trained to use any art possible to protect me. This is for my sake, so I musn’t be spoiled…’   
  
“So he thinks you just…keep a tiny, grand house around? Do humans really do that?”   
  
“Dollhouses, Princess! I told you. It has nothing to do with the Flower Folk. He just thinks I have a hobby. And I mean, it’s not a lie! I just don’t know him well enough yet. I can trust him with my life. What if he’s greedy and learns there’s a ransom out there for you? There’s a lot of-”  
  
“A lot of dangers out there. I know.” Philomene looked wistfully out the glass window of her home, where she could see the glint of the fireplace. It wasn’t the glorious blue sky she’d seen in those few lucky glances, but after what had happened last time she could hardly blame Marjorie for being overly cautious. That beautiful sky was full of birds, and she never wanted to face that storm of feathers and ravenous screeching again.  
“You know how I feel about deception," she continued. "Just because someone might have a heart of marshmallow doesn’t mean you or I have the right to shape it for our own sakes. You should at least tell him sometime. You are planning on telling him sometime?”  
  
“I’m planning on finding our solution before then! But, well. I do have good news on that front.” Marjorie sounded a little less guilty and defensive, at least. “He’s of the name Kettle. You think it’s ‘that’ Kettle? He is a cook…”  
  
“Kettle?” Philomene’s eyes flew to the few books she’d been able to rescue in their hurried escape. She paid no heed to the culinary arts, but there had been a mention of a Wizard ‘Keytl’ in a history book detailing the schools of magic. “It seems like a bit of a long shot. If he’s down here and not in the Sky Islands, he’s probably not all that formidable. But living with a cook wouldn’t be so bad…”  
  
“Hey! You don’t like my scrambled eggs? Just because they’re a little burnt…”   
  
Philomene covered her mouth and chuckled. “I didn’t mean to insult your cooking, honestly. Crispy eggs are fine. And the blueberry slices made for a fine side dish. You’re honestly too good to me and here I am needling you…”  
  
“If you were the sort to accept things without question, I’d be a little less enthusiastic about being your handmaiden. And jester. And bodyguard.” Marjorie sounded as if she were in equally good humor. “Anyway, I’m going to market tonight.”   
  
“Again? I told you, the medicine doesn’t work as well if you’re sleep-deprived.”   
  
“And if I miss a crucial ingredient or artifact because I’m catching my beauty sleep, the Thumbelina Kingdom pays for it. I mean, oh, you don’t have to worry about me! Really. I’m a big girl, Your Highness, even for a human.” Marjorie’s voice sounded a bit too flippant to be convincing, which didn’t help the knot of guilt that formed in Philomene’s stomach whenever Marjorie’s condition came up. “But if you order me to stay in, I’ll stay…”  
  
Philomene clutched the edge of her bell-shaped sleeves and frowned, pulling at the frayed satin fabric. Marjorie would stay if she ordered it; with one word from Philomene, Marjorie would act as if she’d forgotten the very existence of that strange Moonflower Market, and they could proceed with a curse-breaking plan that didn’t involve dealing with witches. But that plan didn’t exist, and like it or not, Moonflower appeared to be their best shot. Without it she wouldn’t have the cowrie shell sitting in the corner of the lab, worn smooth with arcane markings, or the mirror shard, the spindle-needle heavy with fairy magic or the bridge of an enchanted fiddle. That none of Philomene’s experiments on those artifacts and fragments had led to more than curiosities was besides the point; they had led to something, at least.  
  
And as a princess, it was her duty to prioritize that over the well-being of a friend who insisted she was fine.   
  
“You can go,” she relented, defeat evident in her voice. “But you’re spending the next three nights sleeping. And take your medicine with tea or food! Melchior tells me you’ve been chewing it dry and swallowing it with a little water. It’s not as effective that way.”   
  
“Melchi-ugh, that nosy little moth! As you wish, Doctor. I mean, Princess.”   
  
The transmission ended seconds later, the image rippling away to reveal Philomene sitting with her soft-slipper shoes hanging over the edge of the wooden spool. She grabbed her cane and eased herself down, dusting herself off and walking over to the wooden block she used as a worktable, having found the miniature Marjorie had carved for her too delicate to be practical for her purposes. She reached over and tied her hair up in a wrap to get it out of the way, rolled up her sleeves and frowned.  
  
Sitting on the block was a bean, light green in color, swollen to double its original size from an overnight water bath. If Marjorie worried about her going outside of the dollhouse, this would give the bodyguard-jester fits. Even Philomene had to admit it was completely reckless on her part to have exposed the bean to water, though it hadn’t shown any signs of strange activity or rampant growth. A quick cut had split it right open, revealing it to be a perfectly ordinary bean.  
Either Marjorie’s hunch was correct and this was another fake, or there was another factor at work.  
“It’s so strange. Beans, roses, peas…How can something so innocuous as a plant doom an entire city?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be adding a few more chapters later this week. Stay tuned and enjoy!


	5. Strawberry Pie and the Winter Prince

Ezra did not go with Marjorie to her ‘Moonflower Market’ that night, or the next. It wasn’t out of lack of curiosity or laziness. He already felt restless and ill at ease knowing he had no steady income, as while servitude under Hamilton Tooth had been unbearable at times he at least didn’t live in fear of missing a meal.   
  
Rather, his pride simply wouldn’t allow him to show up at a bazaar selling only a single pie, even if that pie could be sliced up to feed a good 20 humans according to Marjorie. “It’s preposterous,” he’d insisted at the time. “If this is to be my ‘debut’ as a baker here in the Center of the Universe, and if I’m to attract customers as you seem to think I can, I won’t do it with subpar work! Certainly not with cold cheese and mushroom pie.” (He’d already eaten a slice of the other pie for supper.) “At least let me prepare a decent strawberry pie. As soon as I can find strawberries…”  
  
It took a week, in fact, to gather the ingredients and prepare for his ‘debut’ at the Market. During that time he made several discoveries about life on the surface. Forests in particular were absolutely teeming with life. On the Sky Islands, the plants that grew there did so in organized ways, sending their roots down into the translucent surface of the cloud and blooming to produce brightly colored fruits or perfumed flowers. Here the plant life seemed determined to spread across every inch of land available, vines choking trees and lichens feasting on their fallen corpses. Where the enormous fir trees didn’t choke out the sunlight, patches of grass formed carpets studded with toadstools and weeds. Insects buzzed about, many too tiny to see until they’d landed on his nose or left his wrists with itchy bites.   
  
In the Sky there had been birds, and only birds; no other animal seemed to thrive on the Islands unless it was a pampered pet, and even Enlightened land animals showed no interest in trying. The priests of the Sun theorized that this was because birds were the favored of the Sun, the ones among the animals who hadn’t turned their backs on Her and thus could still fly far higher than the insects could. The scientists thought it had something to do with the kinds of plants grown in the Sky, pointing out that even flightless birds like chickens did just fine. Whatever the reason, it led to birds being enormously popular with the Sky Folk as livestock or pets. The massive Capital Island of Vox, hovering perpetually over the ocean, was said to hold a glorious menagerie with one inhabitant: a phoenix, one of the last in the world.   
  
Yet even in Mielle, Ezra could not recall the flocks of birds which woke him every morning with gentle chattering and warning calls. Swarms of them sat on the branches of a dying tree until they gave it the illusion of leaves. Birds lived in the Islands, but they thrived on the ground. What he was to make of that, he didn’t know.  
  
Marjorie, for her part, went about her business privately as she promised she would, answering questions only with some needling. She cheerfully told him where to find wild strawberries and edible mushrooms, possibly just happy to have the place to herself while he went out gathering. It took pressing her a bit more to find out that they were currently on the outskirts of the Ever Empire, a human-ruled nation that was in her words, “of no concern to us as they don’t send tax collectors out here.” He also learned there weren’t any terrestrial villages within a week’s travel, leaving Ezra to conclude that this Market was the only way he could continue living as a baker instead of inevitably going mad as a hermit with a chatty freeloader. He found himself wondering what exactly G. Chulainn did to cause so much terror if he was so far away from anyone at all.  
  
He also learned from her how sacks of flour and sugar, bottles of milk and eggs would show up every other morning without explanation. “A little birdie brings them,” she said with a coy look. “And I may have told that little birdie that I have an ailing grandmother. But he wouldn’t bring it if he couldn’t spare it, right?”  
  
One afternoon he sat gathering strawberries in the meadow, kneeling next to the plant and plucking them with his chubby fingers as delicately as he could. He’d discovered that blueberries were a lost cause; tiny as they were, they’d end up squashed and smeared on his hands no matter how careful he was. “I suppose I’ll have to learn how to shape dough more delicately as well,” he muttered to himself as he wiped sweat off his brow, the sun beating down on him. “No wonder humans think they’re the default for everything. It’s all sized perfectly for them down here. Well, except for the trees, and the bears…”   
  
He thought he heard a rustling in the surrounding woods, freezing on instinct and wishing he’d brought his cooking pot. Had merely mentioning bears jinxed him in some way, bringing them down on him? Didn’t they love sweet things like fruit? Certainly he was larger than a bear or a wolf, but that didn’t mean he wanted to run into one.  
  
For a brief second he thought he saw two sets of eyes peering out at him, one bestial and one more human. Then he saw a flash of movement and both disappeared, leaving him standing and staring in the heat and feeling a little foolish.

* * *

“The giant has returned!” Basil burst into his cabin with so much energy he could have torn the door right off if he weren’t careful. “I knew it!”   
  
Lavender paused in her sweeping and looked up at the young prince, smiling gently. “That’s wonderful, Dear. You can bring him a housewarming gift later. Help me get the corners here, won’t you?”  
  
Basil took the broom without even thinking about it, too distracted to be of much help sweeping. “He’s got legs like tree trunks! Big yellow eyes! I imagine he could throw a boulder the length of the forest. I KNEW that maiden was in trouble!”  
  
“Maiden?” Lavender raised an eyebrow, setting herself down on a wooden chair as Basil rushed past her, imitating the battle he dreamed of in broom-handle pantomime. “You mean that girl with the sick grandmother in the old giants’ cottage?”  
  
“And a fishy story it is, right? Why would a girl with high-class manners be out in the woods with her grandmother for no reason at all?”   
  
“Oh, I don’t know. Why would a prince be out in the woods with his fairy godmothers? One of whom he did not kiss when he came in, might I add.”  
  
“Ah…” Basil rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand and bowed his head. “Sorry, Grandmother!” He gave her a kiss on the wrinkled cheek she presented and set the broom aside, still too excited to notice how his booted feet were already starting to warm up. “Just got a little excited. And I see your point, but I mean…I have a reason. Which is why I thought she had to have reason, too. And now I know what it is! She’s actually a prisoner of that giant, and she can’t say or he’ll crush her bones to make his bread! Or whatever giants do. Didn’t one of them kidnap maidens some time ago?”   
  
Lavender just pursed her thin lips together and made a ‘hmm’ sound.  
  
“You don’t believe me? I-hooo.” The cold was creeping through Basil’s limbs again, and he quickly sat himself in front of the fireplace, burning perpetually thanks to fairy magic. The same magic kept the inside of the cabin warm as a steam bath for his sake, something the godmothers insisted they didn’t mind in the least. He wrapped his heavy coat and cloak around him, letting the warmth surround him until the terrible chill had passed.   
  
But he forced a smile and shook his head, letting his long brown hair fall loose from its braid. “I’m fine now. Honest! Toasty warm. And I’ll feel warmer once I save that maiden.”   
  
Lavender pressed a bowl of hot chicken soup into his hands, the heat from the clay bowl soothing instead of burning. “Do you fancy that maiden?”  
  
“What? No!” Basil wrinkled his nose, and then remembered that a Prince Charming never spoke that way about a young lady. “I mean, she seems nice enough but I don’t ‘fancy’ her in that way. Why do you keep asking that whenever I want to help someone?”  
  
“A fairy godmother just wants to see her boy settled and happy, that’s all.”  
  
“And a prince has a marriage arranged for him, right? I mean, eventually. After de-cursing.” He found the idea a little relaxing. Without having to worry about his eventual marriage, he could concentrate on becoming Prince Charming and fighting dragons. Surely he could still do that after his parents married him off to some foreign princess, right? “I just want to save someone. I mean, that’s what princes…do.”  
  
“The princes in the stories do, sure.” Lavender started brushing his hair, a habit he couldn’t convince her to stop doing even if it left him feeling like a little kid again. “Now you’re really convinced this is a wicked giant we’re dealing with, or do you just want a wicked giant to fight?”  
  
How did Lavender manage to make Basil feel like a chastened child even now that he was a young man? “I want a problem to solve. I want to help people, like my brother and sister do. When I get to play that role, the person who swoops in and saves the helpless, it makes me feel, I don’t know. Useful. Important.” He looked down at his hands, the fingertips still cool despite the crackling fireplace and hot soup. “It warms me, I guess.”  
  
After another ‘hmm,’ Lavender went back to brushing his hair. “I think if you go out tonight and keep an eye on the Moonflower Gate, you’ll find someone in distress. Fairy intuition. Just remember, the situation might not be what you think it is. You can’t always trust your eyes, because your mind lies to them.”  
  
“And how could my own mind possibly lie to myself? But-thank you, Grandmother.” Basil turned around and smiled. “I’m going to brush the burrs out of Aurora’s fur. You don’t think she’ll be too tired to go out tonight?”  
  
The old fairy woman chuckled. “Aurora’s been sleeping and eating quite enough. I think the exercise will do her good.”  
  
“And if the giant isn’t wicked but is a great warrior, you think he’ll let me challenge his strength?” Basil couldn’t hide the eager smile on his face, ignoring how Lavender rolled her eyes.  
  
“Go check on your bear.”   
  


* * *

That evening, Ezra followed Marjorie down what seemed to be the most meandering forest path possible. She was wheeling a rickety wooden cart with her carved miniatures and glass baubles, he a larger but equally unstable one stacked with freshly baked strawberry and custard pies. She seemed to be in a particularly good mood, chatting the entire way; Ezra didn’t mind, as it distracted from the distant howls and hoots of the dark woods.   
  
“I swear it, dear Mr. Kettle, those pies smell heavenly! I still think that cheese and mushroom bit was good enough to sell on its own, but I see you have a nose for quality. A nose for it!”   
  
“Well,” Ezra murmured, “fragrance is important. It interacts with taste, you know. And the crust is a family recipe…!”  
  
“And if I live long enough with you I’ll be too round to fit in that house for certain. I’m glad you’re selling those things and keeping them out of my way!” Marjorie hummed as she toted along her cart. The road was worn smooth with footsteps, provided one avoided the occasional jagged rock or puddle. “But yes, Moonflower Market. Oh, what a glorious place, Moonflower Market! There’s simply no fairy market like it. It’s where you go to get something unusual. Say you want to cast a spell? Well, some witches use miniatures for that purpose, though I don’t know the true process. Say you want a tiny recreation of the throne of King Theodore the Warlord? I have no idea why you’d desire such a thing, but I sold one I made with enough to buy myself a new dress.”  
  
“Art collectors, I’d imagine.” Ezra held his head a bit higher. “It’s good to know even people down here appreciate the hard work of an artisan.”  
  
Marjorie just shrugged at that. “Whatever you mean by that. You know we’re not all luddites down here, right? We manage just fine without fancy blue apples and rocs.”   
  
Realizing he might have said the wrong thing, Ezra colored in his cheeks. “And it’s wonderful work you do down here,” he added hastily, eager to change the subject. “What sort of things do they sell?”  
  
“Rarities. I know, you’re about to point out that a pie is not a rarity, but Sky cuisine is not exactly common down here! Just emphasize your family’s legendary baking prowess and people will buy it just for the experience, even if a strawberry pie is just a strawberry pie in the end. Then they can brag that they’ve tasted the sorts of foods only royalty get to try. And giants of course, but maybe that’s part of the novelty.”  
  
“I don’t know how I feel about being a ‘novelty,’” Ezra said. He had an odd feeling in his stomach about this whole affair. What if one of his kin was there, recognizing him as a criminal exile? What if his presence really did scare off humans who weren’t as odd as Marjorie? He already felt big and out of place outside of the cabin, his makeshift cart dwarfing hers and still feeling like a child’s toy. Would his customers just gawk at him, or worry he’d be a violent lout like other Sky exiles?   
  
Marjorie hadn’t heard him, or pretended she hadn’t. “The best thing to do is to flatter your customers just a little bit. ‘You look like you have a healthy sweet tooth!’ I’d say. Or perhaps, ‘the redness of the strawberries suits the blue of your eyes.’ Or perhaps you can’t sell pies the way you can jewelry…”  
  
“The blue of your…what?” Ezra stared at Marjorie.   
  
“Eyes.” She pointed at her own. “People like when you compliment their eyes. Windows to the soul and all that.”   
  
Ezra scoffed. “Eyes are gold. …Right?”  
  
“Well, yours are! Quite unusual; human eyes usually don’t come in that color. Or, wait.” She pondered for a second, tapping her lips with her finger. “Let me guess. Your kind all have gold eyes, right?”  
  
“Yes, because that’s the color eyes are!” Ezra fumed, sensing she was making a fool of him again, until he realized what he was arguing about. “Wait, humans don’t have…excuse me for a second.”  
He knelt down to examine her face a little closer, squinting until he could make out the irises. It wasn’t easy in the dark. “You have green eyes,” he finally concluded, marveling.  
  
Marjorie stared up at him and then laughed. “Of course! Our eyes are small compared to yours, so even when you’re making eye contact you don’t always register the iris color. No offense, but your kind does seem to have trouble seeing past your own noses, metaphorically speaking.”  
  
Feeling rather humiliated and at the same time frustrated with humans for being as small and complex as they apparently were, he turned away and continued on the path. “Eye color doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Not unless you’re complimenting a lover, no. I agree.” Marjorie chuckled again and moved on. “Oh, but the things they sell there. Enchanted soups, love potions, spell artifacts, magic plants. Once I saw a cauldron that produced noodles with one word-oh, mind that branch!”   
  
She’d been a little late with the warning, as the tree branch had already smacked Ezra in the face, but he was too stunned to notice the stinging nosebleed that resulted. “Did-did you say magic plants?”  
  
The human stood still for a moment, as if thinking, and then cleared her throat. “Sorry, just lost my train of thought! Yes, you get those from time to time.”  
  
“Say…anything like magic beans?”  
  
“Beans? Hmm. Perhaps? Maybe? I see so many things, it’s hard to recall. What’s a baker want with beans, anyway? You know how to make a cassoulet? I do adore cassoulet…”   
  
“Uh, nothing. I mean, yes. Sort of.” Ezra was hardly in the mood to explain the whole story to Marjorie now of all times, but already his mind was racing. He’d thought he could use any success he gained at the Market to spread word of his talent around among the humans, finding himself prestige in the Center of the Universe. Were he well-known and beloved enough down here, perhaps he’d have more success appealing his unfair sentence.   
  
But if there was someone selling magic beans, like the ones which had created the monstrous beanstalk, maybe they could lead him to Jack. And if he could find the real culprit, be it that seemingly innocent human boy or the one who had sent him…  
  
“We’re here, Ezra!” Marjorie snapped him out of his own thoughts. They’d arrived at a perfectly circular clearing, the grass well-worn and flat in places. It was completely deserted and lit only by the light of the full moon.   
  
He glanced around, rubbing his chin in concern. “Are we very early? I thought you said it started at midnight, and I’m sure it’s nearly that time.”  
  
“It is! And we’re not but a few minutes early. And yes, this is the place.” Marjorie pouted up at him, patting him on the thigh. “Have a little bit of faith in me, my large friend! Just give it a few minutes…”  
  
The rustling around them would seem to confirm Marjorie’s words. “Oh! That must be them now. I guess they’re all arriving at the same ti-” Ezra felt a tug on his shirt and looked down at Marjorie, whose smile had vanished and been replaced with a wide-eyed stare. She was holding her finger in front of her mouth to shush him, pointing outward.  
  
There were no merchants emerging from the woods. Instead, dozens of gold eyes emerged, dark shapes shuffling out with lowered heads and hunched forms. Wolves, Ezra knew from pictures; though the wolves he’d seen had been far less menacing and hungry-looking than these. He also imagined them being much smaller, like large dogs. These were at least a head taller than Marjorie, and she was a tall human.  
  
“Marjorie,” he whispered down to her. “Get a bit closer. I could probably take one or two of them just fine…” One or two he might be able to handle, but there were at least nine. “Is this normal?”  
  
“No it’s not normal!” she snapped, reaching for a dagger she’d apparently hidden in her dress. “I’ve never seen wolves like this before. This is supposed to be an enchanted glen. You know, protected.”  
  
He swallowed, clenching his hands into fists and mustering up willpower. He had to have some courage in there somewhere, didn’t he? “You can probably make a run for it while they go after me. I’m sure between the two of us, the fat giant is the more tempting target.”  
  
“Oh, I will not! I said I’d get you to the Market and I’m going to do that! Somehow, yes…”   
  
The wolves hunched and then growled, the largest one with an enormous, shaggy mane and blood red eyes. It was big enough to reach Ezra’s chest, and he could already imagine it tearing into his throat. He’d die in total obscurity after all, without any surviving ancestors to even return his body to the sky…  
  
The wolf growled and lunged, jaws out.  
  
Acting on instinct, he swung a fist and miraculously connected, nailing the beast right beneath the chin. It stumbled back, yelping and snarling, as Ezra stared at his own arms. “I…how did I do that?!”  
  
“You’re a giant, silly! However you were up there, you’re quite strong in comparison down here!” Marjorie had somehow managed to climb onto his shoulders, and he couldn’t blame her under the circumstances. “Think you could do that, oh, about 40 more times? Because there’s more coming…”  
  
“N-no, I don’t,” Ezra admitted, backing up against the carts as the wolves closed in on them. The big one was uttering strange noises, almost as if it was passing on orders to its hungry brethren. One after another they lunged, leaped…  
  
And were flung yelping away.  
  
Ezra opened his eyes. He was sure he hadn’t done that. Instead there was a great bulky form, fur white as the moon itself, swatting the beasts away with long black claws. A bear, Ezra recognized from the shape, though he’d never seen one that color in the paintings. Riding atop it was a figure in a thick, fur-lined cloak over an equally heavy coat, face wrapped in a scarf and long black braid trailing behind him. He had a sword hanging in a scabbard at his side and pulled it out to fight off the rest of the wolves, sending them running back into the woods in a matter of minutes.   
  
The bear rider turned to face Ezra in particular, silhouetted by the moonlight. He dressed for far colder weather than the warm night necessitated, a golden amulet hanging from his neck. The young warrior pulled the scarf down so he could speak. “And now, Giant…”  
  
“You saved me,” Ezra blurted out before feeling incredibly foolish for even speaking to such a person. But no one had ever saved him before. Not when his family was sinking into debt, not when his parents were dying, not when he was on trial for something everyone knew he hadn’t done. It was an indescribable feeling.  
  
“Ohhh, thank goodness you’re here,” Marjorie added as she appeared from behind Ezra. She wiped blood off the tip of her dagger; apparently she’d gotten a few blows on a wolf herself. “You always are helpful, my little birdie. Basil, this is Ezra Kettle, the new owner of the cottage. He’s helping me take care of my sick grandmother.”  
  
Ezra would only later realize she’d mentioned a nonexistent grandmother; he was too busy staring at the bear rider, apparently named Basil.  
  
“Ezra, this is Basil, Prince of…um, hello?” She poked at him. “Hello?”   
  
Basil looked down at Marjorie, then up at Ezra, dismounting from his bear and giving the latter a baffled look. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound quite sincere. Had Ezra committed some kind of offense? Was he expected to offer something in recompense? What was the etiquette regarding being saved by a handsome prince?  
  
Marjorie gave Ezra a strange look and then shrugged. “Mr. Prince of the Blue Forest, could you stick around and escort us to the Market once the gate is open? You know, in case more weird wolves show up.”  
  
That seemed to excite the prince, whose eyes lit up like the stars. “Escort you? Of course, my lady! My large…sir.” He bowed to both of them, tipping his wide-brimmed hat with fur gloved hands. “The gate should open any moment now, and I shall ensure your safety from all ills.”  
  
“You can have some pie,” Ezra interjected, and then wondered why he’d been so insistent about it.   
  
“Uh, thank you.” Basil gave Ezra another awkward look up, confirming it in Ezra’s mind that he’d already made several major social fumbles with the prince. “Though we’ve never seen wolves like that in the forest before either. Strange! I wonder if that means something terrible’s afoot…”  
  
“You’re a little too excited about something terrible being afoot, Highness,” Marjorie mock-whispered at him. Ezra would have agreed, but he was distracted by the dizziness he felt when he looked at Basil.  
  
A gentle, warm breeze blew into the clearing. The grass turned from dark green to a bright blue, lit by a circle of periwinkle-blue, bell-shaped flowers glowing like morning stars. The glow increased in intensity until it bathed them in blue light, the surrounding woods warping and rippling out of view. Ezra reached to steady his cart by instinct, even though nothing was actually moving, thanking the Sun that he’d only lost one pie in the fracas and the wolves had mostly ignored the cart. That was strange, he’d realize later; why would wolves be picky?  
  
In the storm of light and the strange, static sensation it brought on his skin, Ezra couldn’t help but notice something that was of great importance to him at that moment.   
  
Basil had brown eyes.


	6. Moonflower Market

The blue fog gradually gave way to a cloud of shapes and forms, which in turn grew more visible in a matter of seconds. When the light dimmed to a gentle blue glow and the skin tingling subsided, Basil and his companions stood at the outskirts of a crowded marketplace built on a circular plane of white stone. Behind them was a glassy barrier, a dome encompassing the entire, village-sized area. When one looked up, one could only see stars. Past the wall, endless fields of those luminescent blue flowers.  
  
It never ceased to dazzle him, even though it was a familiar sight by that point. But Basil his his awe under a confident smirk and a grand swish of his cape as he turned to face the other two. Prince Charming was never dazzled, merely impressed.  
  
"My Lady, My..." Basil was unsure how he was supposed to address a giant. "Good sir. Welcome to Moonflower Market. I cannot tell you where we are or how the Moon Gate works, for I am sworn to secrecy. Well," he added, "I don't exactly know. But if I did-"  
  
Marjorie cut him off with a hand wave. "Thank you, Highness! I always appreciate the introduction every time you go to the market with me, really. But I really must get to business. Ezra, remember my advice! And don't be afraid to exaggerate the health benefits of strawberries just a tad. No harm in it! Ta!"   
  
She wandered off with as much of a graceful step as one could manage while pushing a cart, leaving Basil a little puzzled. Didn't she like his speeches? Had he really used that one already? It was at least new to the giant.  
  
Oh, yes. The giant. It was difficult not to gawk; Ezra was twice as big as any human he’d ever seen, and could probably lean his chin on the roof of his grandmothers’ cottage. Even the pies he toted about were larger than Aurora’s great paw pads.   
  
The Prince Charming of the tales he'd heard had saved the distressed from bullying, greedy giants. Great heroes and warriors had bested giants in combat or tricked them. He didn't recall any of them saving giants. Why would they need to? Anyone that big and strong could defend themselves.  
  
This one was obviously not small or weak; Basil had seen him strike down a wolf bare handed, and a huge one at that. Someone like that could only pity a short human like himself, one who needed a bear's help to match a giant's strength. It was embarrassing. There had to be at least a bit of pity in the odd, owl-eyed look this Ezra was giving Basil.  
  
“Thank you again for saving me. And us. With your bear. It’s a very lovely white bear. I’ve never seen a tamed one before.” Ezra spoke in a low rumble and seemed to stand with his nose perpetually pointed just upward, like the nobles Basil remembered from his brief periods at court. The prince wouldn’t have imagined that sort of tone coming from a baker, unless Ezra was some manner of pastry royalty.   
  
Then again, Basil thought, maybe Ezra just had an upturned nose.   
  
Unwilling to let himself be looked down upon in any but a literal sense, Basil puffed out his chest and gestured to Aurora. She was behaving herself, despite the scents of fruit and meat wafting from the food stall sector of the vast market, seated behind Basil and nudging him. “Aurora is of the finest stock of gentle bears bred by my mother’s kingdom to the far north. You wouldn’t have seen one, I imagine!” He grinned, and then realizing that might not come across as properly Humble (for Prince Charming was always Humble when the situation called for it) he cleared his throat. “Shall I lead you around, Sir Kettle?”   
  
“Ezra works,” the giant said, speaking a little too quickly. He lugged that big cart full of sweet-smelling pastry behind him as he took in the sights over Basil’s shoulders. “I appreciate the tour greatly, Your Highness.”  
  
“Basil will do. It’s odd to hear ‘Highness, Highness’ when I’m not at my father’s palace. Speeches aside, the forest is no place for formality! If this is still the forest.” He cupped his chin in his gloved hand as he walked. “I was never entirely sure…”  
  
He almost had to shout to be heard over the crowds of the marketplace. Basil only knew about the ‘gate’ in the Blue Forest, but he assumed there had to be many more. Travelers wearing clothing from nations far and wide gathered here, selling strange wares. A woman in robes sold eggs she claimed would hatch basiliks; Basil could have sworn he saw a snake peek out of her wrapped hair, but it might have been a decoration. A man with long fingers and curled nails like claws played music from a great clockwork machine apparently powered by mice on wheels. The air smelled of spun sugar and salt-cured meat, roasted root vegetables, saffron and lemon; the occasional whiff of perfume or lamp oil somehow only enhanced the combination of scents. As Basil led Ezra to where the other food vendors were situated, he nearly bumped into a palomino centaur busking with an oversized cello.   
  
“Begging your pardon, my lady!” Basil tipped his hat and dropped a few coins in the tray at her hooves as an apology; she merely tossed her hair and kept playing.  
  
“Nobody here really recognizes me as a prince,” Basil said over his shoulder to Ezra in the closest to a conspiratorial whisper as he could manage while addressing someone twice his height over a crowd. It wasn’t very much of a whisper at all. “But I don’t mind that! Prince Charming’s true nobility of heart and courage should be his heralds.” He was glad the crowd was dense enough to likely disguise the shivers running through his body; it would be too embarrassing to explain them. He looked longingly at a plump couple selling steaming bowls of cabbage soup, but reminded himself he was on a mission.   
  
“Prince Charming?” Ezra’s brows wrinkled. “Who is that?”   
  
Basil stopped to stare up, this time more out of bafflement. “You don’t know?!”  
  
Was it just the light, or did a hint of red flush through the giant’s face? “We knew of no such person up there.” He pointed upwards, and then balked when he looked up at that sea of stars. “Well, by ‘up there’ I mean the Islands.”   
  
Ah, Basil told himself, than he was recently arrived from the floating masses of clouds where most giants made their homes. This was a perfect chance to make an impression, and how perfect it would be to impress someone so much bigger! “Prince Charming,” he began in a clear voice, “is a great hero who once wandered the land, saving those in need, battling gi-erm, monsters, reversing curses and breaking spells. She lived as a prince despite being a woman of humble birth, and it is through her heroism that the very term ‘prince’ took on a meaning besides ‘son of a king.’ Prince Charming vanished one day without a trace, but her followers wrote the Edicts of a Prince Charming for all those who would follow in her footsteps. I use ‘he’ when I speak of them because I am a boy, of course. And…not the least of humble birth.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and the fur on his glove made him sneeze.   
  
At least Ezra seemed dully impressed, gazing down at Basil with what was quite obviously admiration. “We don’t have princes or nobles up there. It’s a different system. So I didn’t think much of it. But someone who saves those in need! That absolutely-oh, right here.” The stars left his eyes almost immediately as the baker seemed to switch immediately to the commercial instinct of a merchant, setting his big cart where it loomed next to the more human-scaled one selling cinnamon pastries. “This is perfect. The smells will bring customers in, and I just have a sense for this spot. Besides,” he added awkwardly, “I needed a space to fit.”  
  
Already the presence of an oversized pie cart was attracting attention, mostly from passerby doing just as Basil had done-gawk at the rare sight of Ezra himself, with legs like tree trunks and heavy apron, carefully slicing a huge pie into very thin slices with a knife that Basil could use as a short sword. He seemed oblivious to the crowd, engrossed in his work. “What a fool I am! Of course there’d mostly be humans here, not my kinfolk, so why didn’t I just bake in the tart pan? Even if it would have taken forever. No one but the most daring glutton would buy a slice of pie big enough to feed five…”  
  
Basil tried to hide annoyance at how much notice Ezra was getting just by being there, reminding himself of that whole humility part of Charminghood. Why was that part always so difficult? He could do the heroic deeds just fine if the opportunity would arise more often. He took a deep breath and then wrapped his arms around his chest as a bad chill came over him, his toes and fingertips suddenly quite numb and his face stinging. He pulled the scarf around his mouth again, suddenly quite glad that Ezra was too busy and the crowd too distracted to see him.  
  
He forced himself to stand up straight again, flashing a smile. “Well! Good sir-I mean, Ezra, now that you’re properly situated I’ll leave you to your business. I have to go check on the Lady Marjorie and…” A frown crossed his face as something clicked in his mind. “There’s no sick grandmother, is there.”  
  
“It’s just her and I,” Ezra said without looking up at Basil or the crowds. “And she was there first.”  
  
“And to be sure, you are not demanding she cook for you or holding her hostage in some other manner that would require me to bring sugar and flour and eggs and such from my grandmothers’ farm and the trading post down the road?”  
  
Two gold eyes shot a hurt-filled glare at Basil that left the prince flinching out of guilt as much as surprise. “Why would I do such a thing?!”  
  
“Sorry! Beg your forgiveness, sir!” Basil held his hands up and took a step back. “I just wanted to confirm something. So if there’s no sick grandmother, and she’s not in distress…”  
  
It was clear from Ezra’s quick, short tone that he was still a little offended by Basil’s ill-judged accusation. “She told me a story that I’m quite sure is also made up, because that seems to be her habit. I think she might just be a freeloader. But she seems to know more about the Center-I mean the land than I do, and she helps with the cleaning, and it’d be terribly lonely to be stuck in that cabin without a single friend…”  
  
Basil bit his lip, thinking. He didn’t like the implication of any of this. “I think I will go check on Marjorie after all.” Besides, the inner cold was getting unbearable; he needed to warm up with some of that soup. The mulled wine tempted him, but the fairy godmothers had warned him to beware of wine being sold at an enchanted market. (They never said anything about cabbage soup. Presumably cabbages were too boring for enchanters to care about, preoccupied as they were with enticing luxuries.)  
  
At least he could say he impressed the giant. His pride could stay intact. But pride was antithetical to a proper Prince.  
  
How complex it was to be charming!

* * *

“Wait, Basil! Don’t-” But as Ezra spun around, he saw that the bear-rider prince had already disappeared into the crowd. Had Ezra reacted too harshly to Basil’s accusation? After all, he himself had the same ideas about Sky Folk exiles: they were untrustworthy, possibly violent, and definitely sent away from the Sky for a Very Good Reason. That he now counted among those exiles was a bit of a sticking point, one he smoothed over by reminding himself that he was falsely accused and should not have been grouped with the sorts of violent criminals who would menace and exploit the fragile humans.  
  
And how many there were! He tried to connect this sea of half-size people with the Mielle marketplace, but Mielle had been a relatively small Island and would never draw crowds like this. Never mind that such activities would never be held at night; transactions under the light of the Moon were considered cursed. There was nothing to be done about it in this case. Ezra was already too far from the Sun.  
  
Come to think of it, hadn’t the Moon been shining over the forest clearing? When Ezra looked up now through the strange domed glass, he saw only stars. Where were they?!  
  
Customers, customers, he reminded himself as he turned to the crowd. There were a few centaurs standing heads and shoulders above everyone else, but for the most part he was looking at a gathering of humans wearing clothing familiar and unfamiliar. A young man up near the front of the crowd wore a buttoned, blue silk shirt and ponytail similar to the Vox style, though not quite. He pointed to the pie slices.  
  
“Oh, yes, of course,” Ezra mumbled. Self-consciousness was quickly taking hold of him; for the first time since his arrival in the Center of the Universe, he was starting to feel unnaturally large in comparison to the world around him. Nonsense, he knew, for Sky Folk were the proper size granted to them by the Sun and blessed by the Moon. But here there were only stars. Nevermind it; he had business to do, and fell back on the means of advertisement he’d seen employed in Mielle since his childhood. He cleared his throat.  
  
“You have never tasted pie like this,” he bellowed as he pointed out to the crowd. “Never in your lives! A perfect balance of sugar, and only the finest! Nothing but the plumpest and ripest berries, and a crust like biting into a cloud! A slice will still be good seven days from now! And so…”  
  
Perhaps it had been his tone of voice? Had he been too loud after all? The crowd was dispersing quickly, covering their ears. Parents grabbed children, all of them staring up awkwardly at him as they excused themselves. Had he done it wrong? That was how business was done, wasn’t it? One sold one’s wares based on them being the finest color, the most durable build or the most luxurious taste. The exaggeration was key and expected. Sky artisans prided themselves on being the grandest, the loudest, the ‘most.’   
  
But of course, this was not a Sky marketplace and he had just committed some kind of faux pas. Turning away again, he swallowed his hurt feelings and went to cutting one of the slices even smaller. “Free samples, maybe if I gave free samples…”  
  
“Might I have one?”  
  
The voice should have been drowned out by the crowd, so quiet and reserved it was, but Ezra heard it clear as a bell. It came from a man in a plain, long black cloak hung with herbs at the belt, wearing a wide-brimmed hat that obscured whatever part of his face his ornate black mask did not. He was exceptionally tall for a human, with long limbs and fingers like branches. With his hands gloved and his face covered it was difficult to discern his age, but the voice suggested an older man. The mouth, just visible under the mask, had thin lips and wrinkles, and the complexion was a striking red. Basil’s skin had a reddish-copper tint to it, but this man was the same color red as the strawberries.   
  
He may not have been a human at all, but he was a potential customer, and Ezra wouldn’t miss it. He offered the man a slice, suddenly quite aware of how much more exciting the herb rolls, roast ducks and violet honeycomb being sold around him seemed in comparison to his own offering.

The man took a slow bite, and then nodded. Another crowd had gathered around him, and this one was quiet, as if awaiting his word.  
  
“It’s quite good, very good. I have not had crust like this in ages. I know this taste…really, it is to be experienced.” He nodded again, and Ezra realized the slice was already gone. When had the old man eaten it all?  
  
This prompted an eruption of whispers from the crowd. “The Gourmet likes it!”  
  
“Well of course he does, he has such fantastic taste.”  
  
“If the Gourmet likes it…”  
  
“Sky Cuisine, right? I thought it was all too spicy.”  
  
“You’re thinking of imitations! The real stuff is very rich and nourishing. I heard so many stories.”  
  
“Well, the Gourmet should know…”  
  
Seconds later, Ezra was practically drowning in demands for pie, being paid in strange Moon-patterned coins by the handful. Taken aback, he managed as well as he could, trying to be sure everyone at least got to try a bit of the sample even after the larger pies were sold out. They were too big, he realized that now, and yet the humans taking them away ‘for later’ didn’t seem to mind.   
  
The man lingered after the crowd had left, standing as placid as the tree he resembled. Ezra turned and crouched down to face him, offering to take one of his hands. “Thank you, thank you! Sir, whoever you are. I wasn’t sure how business is done here, and I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do with this currency, but…”  
  
The Gourmet held up one finger. “It’s alright. Quite alright. They hold my opinion in high esteem for some reason. People are quite easy to persuade, regardless of size.” He gazed outward towards the center of the marketplace, where an auction for a large bell was being held. “It’s a nostalgic taste. Brought me back to my childhood.”  
  
So, Ezra thought, the key to business was just to impress the right people? Or was this man just being kind to him?  
  
“It’s odd, though,” the Gourmet continued. “The crust, exquisite. I haven’t tasted anything like it in years. The filling was good, nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t match the flaky texture of the crust, and it was frankly just a little too sweet.”  
  
Against anyone else, Ezra would have stammered an indignant reply to such criticism; towards his customer he just lowered his eyes. “Well, I’m always working on improving the recipe…”  
  
“I think it is the recipe. The dough was a Kettle recipe, wasn’t it?”  
  
Ezra froze, staring at the Gourmet and trying not to fall over. “You know the name ‘Kettle?’”  
  
“Of course I do. I’ve been around. I must have tasted your mother’s cooking once, or was it your grandfather? I know the Kettles never sold their recipes, so for you to have access to one must make you a family member.” The Gourmet smiled, showing off very long white teeth. “Am I correct?”  
  
“…Son,” Ezra finally answered. “Last son, right now.”  
  
“And the other recipes? I’m sure they have one for strawberry filling. Even if you couldn’t get all the ingredients wherever you are now, it seems strange that…”  
  
Heat burned Ezra’s ears and neck and he tried not to sound defensive. “I haven’t mastered them. At all. My old Master made me learn under his techniques, and the Kettle recipes…”  
  
“Of course. You’re too young to be a master at them yet. But I do want to try them. How puzzling…” The Gourmet tapped his chin, and then grinned. “Tell you what. You make something next time that’s all Kettle. Give me a taste to break my heart, whatever it is. And then perhaps I’ll consider helping you out.”  
  
“Helping me out? You mean like today? That was quite-”  
  
The Gourmet snorted. “Today was nothing. Like I said, people of all walks and sizes are easily impressed. I made you some coin to buy some better ingredients and something nice for yourself here, nothing more. A Kettle should not be hawking his wares to the common folk who cannot even appreciate his techniques. He should be back in the heavens, preparing celestial desserts and making miracles. You know what Kettle recipes can create in the hands of a true master? Miracles. Magic, even.”   
  
Ezra was sure that the Gourmet was speaking metaphorically, but it didn’t matter anyway. All questions were overwhelmed by the idea that this strange man could not only help him go home, but restore his family’s name. How, Ezra had no idea, but this human-or-whatever clearly had a great deal of influence. “Sir! Thank you, sir! I promise, next time-next week. I’ll be back next week, with something like a miracle. I hope, anyway.”  
  
“No hope. Do it.” The Gourmet snapped. “And I’ll take care of any problems you have. You must miss your kinfolk anyway; this place is just so very small.” He turned to walk away, though he tossed Ezra one more handful of coins on the way out. “I’d suggest shopping for the best ingredients here. Use your instincts as a chef. Trust them!”  
  
“Yes! Ingredients! Of course, thank you!” Ezra cradled the coins in his bag, a little baffled at his newfound fortune. He probably had to spend it all here, he imagined, for he couldn’t see any other use for those moon-printed coins. That meant he had to get to work. New pots for certain, and fine sugar, perhaps molasses or foreign fruits that would last the week. Maybe he could find some kind of magnifier so he could see details better; it would ease the difficulty of making pastries smaller than he was used to. Hadn’t there been something else he had meant to look out for? A plant of some kind?  
  
It had to be a vegetable, right? Of course, vegetables for meat pies. That was what he’d been thinking of, wasn’t it?


	7. In the Magic Quarter

“You didn’t tell me the Bear Rider would be there.” The Wolf glowered at the cloaked figure standing in front of her, licking a wound on her paw. “I was told I could have giant flesh for my children. I should devour you instead.”   
  
It was an empty threat, and she knew it. The Wolf was still sore from the blow dealt to her by the young giant, and she didn’t want to disturb her nursing pups.   
  
“I didn’t know the ‘bear rider’ would be there,” the cloaked human said. “I didn’t guarantee you’d be able to eat any of them. What about the human?”  
  
The Wolf snorted and bared her teeth. “She smelled of poison! Curses. If we ate her, it’d spread to our bodies.”  
  
“Of course, as I expected. Tell me though, tell me what I need to know.” In the pale moonlight, what little of the cloaked figure’s body that was visible appeared pale and stout. She didn’t smell entirely human, and the Wolf could tell she’d slathered herself in herbs to disguise her scent. How irritating.   
  
But The Wolf needed what the woman offered, or her children would grow up as tiny and dull as the other wolves in the pack.   
  
“We smelled flowers on the human, yes. Honeysuckle and roses. Not a perfume. And again, poisoned blood.” The Wolf folded her ears back. “Now hand it over.”  
  
“Shhh. Just a minute.” The woman dug through a pouch, producing a handful of jewels carved smooth like peas. “If they each swallow one of these, you’ll have three Enlightened pups. I guarantee it. But!” She snatched her hand closed and pulled the jewels away. “I can only offer one right now.”  
  
“Only one?! You would have me choose between my own children who gets to speak and live long, and who is tiny and dull?!”  
  
The woman was unmoved by the Wolf’s anger. “They’re just very difficult to make! I can’t give them away for information alone. But you want to eat the giant, right? And the bear prince?”  
  
“And his flea-infested bear.” The Wolf snorted.   
  
“Tell you what. You can take one of these now, if you’d like. Or you can bring me the prince’s heart and proof that you’ve devoured the giant, and get all three for your cubs.”  
  
“What do you want with a prince’s heart? It’s just meat.”  
  
The woman smiled. “Of course it’s just meat to a beast. But you can do this for me? Deliver the prince’s heart, and your children will grow up Enlightened. I guarantee it.”  
  
The Wolf’s first instinct was to go for the immediate, guaranteed reward. She genuinely didn’t like attacking humans. Humans weren’t like deer; they spread rumors around, and going after the wrong one could bring hunters down on the forest to exterminate their kind. A prince was too prominent a target.  
  
And yet, she was the only Enlightened wolf left in the woods. Her mate having drowned in the last flood, she alone held the shining intelligence to know why attacking humans was unwise. When she went, her children would be ruled by their appetites and instincts alone. Such tools were useful, but paled in comparison to the weapons and wits of humanity.  
  
“You’ll get your prince’s heart. I’ll spit it out at your feet.” She flared her nostrils and flashed her teeth again. “Now go away, before I decide to eat you.”  
  
The woman only laughed as she pocketed the precious jewels. “You’d be dead in a week if you ate me! And I’d just come right back, like a mushroom in the rain. Do what you want, old wolf. You know where to find me.” 

* * *

“Eye of a newt? Got a good eye of a newt here!”  
  
Marjorie flashed her best polite smile, ignoring the terrible smell as she passed the handsome vendor who specialized in eyeballs. He was situated next to a booth selling nightcrawlers for spell-casting purposes. Was she really going to have to eat something here with her medicine? It was always so much work summoning up any appetite after walking through the Magic Quarter.  
  
The Magic Quarter wasn’t really a quarter. By her reckoning it took up less than an eighth of the circular Market. They appealed to a very specific sort of clientele, and considering how hard it was to even find the Market one assumed they had regulars. Regulars who appreciated tiny carved likenesses of things for reasons of their own, reasons Marjorie told herself were none of her business. Witches and wizards had to make a living too, doing whatever it is they did, and she was really only concerned with one particular sort of magic.  
  
Just her luck, there was no sign of any Green Magic among the stalls hawking scrolls and charms. She couldn’t find so much as a potted carnivorous plant or a packet of seeds. Was that one witch aware that Marjorie was onto her, and had she taken her business elsewhere? If Marjorie had showed her hand too quickly and blown the whole plan, she was going to have to slap herself.   
A wave of dizziness hit her. She had to grab onto the pole of a lamp to balance herself, waiting for it to pass. “I’m fine,” she reassured the confused potion vendor with a woozy smile. “Really! Just had some strong wine earlier.”   
  
Oh, this was not a good time for her condition to start acting up. Who knew if any of these magicians could detect curses? She reached into the satchel at her waist, patting the bag to make sure it was still there. Good, she’d remembered the medicine. She’d just need to stop by one of the stalls for something to eat, at Philomene’s insistence.   
  
Realizing she was getting another stare from the potion vendor, she flashed another smile and pretended to pull out a handkerchief, covering her mouth with it. She used the cover of the crowd noises to speak softly into the garnet stone on her ring.   
  
“They’re selling potions today in little sample bottles. I suppose it’s the kind where you pay for more later if you like it. They’re about half your height, Princess, if you’re interested.”  
  
A second passed before a soft voice spoke back to her through the garnet stones in her earrings. “What manner of potion?”  
  
“Let’s see. Business success, crop abundance, love…”  
  
“Ugh! Love potions are terribly distasteful.” One could almost see Philomene shuddering through the tone of her voice. “But that one about crop abundance might hold a clue if I can break it down to its composite parts.”  
  
“If these aren’t fakes.” Marjorie mimicked a sneeze to keep her handkerchief from looking too suspicious as she continued, eyeing the series of tiny, wax-topped bottles. “At the very least he’s gone and colored them artificially. There’s a luck potion, too.”  
  
“That one is definitely a fake,” Philomene said. “No one’s been able to manifest good fortune or luck through magic in a proven way. It’s mostly a placebo effect made to exploit the unfortunate, since ‘luck’ is such a difficult concept to objectively define for more than a single individual. But luck potions usually contain mandrake oil, and I’ve been meaning to do some experiments with mandrake oil. Old wizards used it to apply enchantments to living things. Like plants, for instance?”  
  
“Right!” Marjorie trusted Philomene with that part, as she didn’t understand any of it. “Luck and crop abundance it is. And before you say it, of course I’ll keep the latter as far away from my insides as possible. You needn’t worry, Princess.”  
  
“Good! And have you taken your medicine?”  
  
Marjorie glanced ruefully at the herbs, recalling her dizzy spell. Those dried leaves managed to make anything she ate taste like bitter greens and soap. “Of course,” she fibbed. “Right on schedule.” It would be close enough to schedule, she told herself. She’d just make for the rabbit soup and catch up with Ezra after she bought those potion samples.   
  
Philomene sounded skeptical on the other line. “Just do take care of yourself. Royal order!” The transmission cut out, and Marjorie wondered for a moment if she’d upset Philomene, biting her lip.   
  
But it was for the best. The princess had enough to worry about without giving Marjorie’s condition a thought. It was backwards, royalty fretting over a servant.  
  
She’d managed to haggle towards what she thought was a perfectly reasonable trade for the potion samples, much to the chagrin of the vendor, when she spotted a large, white shape coming towards her in the crowds. Where there was a white bear, there was Basil. “What is that kid doing here? He’s going to tick off some witch and end up a frog,” she muttered to herself as she stalked out to meet him.   
  
Hiding her irritation, Marjorie flashed a look of innocent surprise. “Oh, Basil! Your Highness, so glad to run into you again!”  
  
Basil was walking alongside Aurora, and while it was hard to read his expression behind his scarf, his voice suggested confusion and displeasure. “My lady Marjorie. I was speaking with young Mr. Kettle.”  
  
“Were you? I’m so glad you two are getting along. He’s a fine, upstanding sort. Business-minded. Doesn’t smile much, but he’s got a big heart under the big everything else. Seems to like you!” Marjorie could tell Ezra was taken with the prince right away. She’d filed that under information that might be potentially useful; at the very least, it gave Ezra a reason to stick around.   
  
“Yes! I think I may have earned his respect despite my inferior strength and size. He shan’t look down on this human!” Basil beamed and looked like he was about to strike one of his triumphant poses, but hesitated. “That’s just it. You see, he mentioned-”  
  
Marjorie’s stomach did a flip-flop, and she had to steady herself leaning on Aurora this time. The bear just grunted, though Basil ran to her side to support her. She offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry! I just forgot to eat. Very silly of me, really. You’d think I wouldn’t have that problem, living with a baker!”  
  
“Forgot to eat!? Here.” Basil thrust a garlic bun in her hands, pulled from a little sack he held in his free hand. “They were on sale, and my eyes were bigger than my stomach. Eat it, I insist!”   
  
She stared at the knot-shaped bun. Garlic wasn’t her favorite flavor, but maybe it would overpower the taste of the medicine. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. It took quick, practiced handiwork to slip the herbs into a bite of the roll, but it did the trick. They went down quickly, and Basil didn’t notice her involuntary shudder.  
  
Basil cleared his throat, looking uncertain. “My lady, if you’re feeling better, I do have some questions. You see, you told me you had a sick grandmother. I thought this was a little fishy, but I imagined you must have had some more distressing reason for living in the woods, being a damsel and all. Except I’m starting to think-”  
  
A tiny voice came in over Marjorie’s earrings, alarmed. “Marjorie! This isn’t good. The Toad’s here!”  
   
“The what?!” Marjorie realized she’d said it aloud, and tried to diffuse Basil’s stare with a sheepish smile. She couldn’t manage it through her alarm, however, leaving her wondering what sort of face she’d made instead.   
  
“I’m sure it’s him. I’m going to call Melchior and find a safe place to hide, but the laboratory’s been compromised. Get back here as soon as you can, and bring that giant in case it’s not safe for you!” Philomene’s transmission ended, leaving Marjorie standing and leaning on Aurora again, her heart thumping in her chest.  
  
The Toad couldn’t be back, could he? How could he have found them? Who was tracking them? They’d gone so far already. Were they going to have to find another hiding place? Leave it to the cowardly Toad to send someone after the little princess when Marjorie was away. What a fool’s errand this night had proved to be.   
  
“My lady? Marjorie, are you sure you’re alright?” Basil touched her arm, and Marjorie shook him off as gently as she could.   
  
“We need to go. I’m…really not feeling well.” It wasn’t a lie this time. She brushed her forehead with her handkerchief, though the queasiness in her stomach had nothing to do with a fever and everything to do with all the terrible threats the princess could face. What if the Toad had sent wasps? A raccoon? Gods forbid, what if he sent in a hungry snake?   
  
The ploy worked well enough. As Marjorie suspected, Basil couldn’t resist the rare chance to perform a real act of heroism. He hopped onto the bear and pulled her atop it, letting her sit side-saddle. “Come on, girl,” he urged Aurora. “We’ll find Ezra and be on our way. Worry not, fair lady!”   
  
“You’re very kind.” Marjorie couldn’t help but notice how genuine Basil was, dropping his legitimate concerns about her obvious lie the moment her health was at stake. She really did feel a little bad about exploiting the young prince’s aspirations. He’d be a fine Prince Charming someday, if he got over the speeches.   
  
But there would be a time for honesty, and that time was not when the princess’s life was in danger.  
  


* * *

Philomene clung to the furry back of Melchior, not daring to move and barely allowing herself to breathe. The Atlas moth was perched on top of the rafters, sensing her alarm and staying still as death. All they could do was wait it out, Philomene told herself, until Marjorie returned. She hated being so dependent on others, but perhaps that was a necessity in the great, vast world of humans.   
  
She allowed herself one brief glance over the edge of Melchior’s wings, pulling away immediately and shuddering. The monsters were prowling the bedroom, perching on the bed and knocking Marjorie’s blown glass sculptures aside carelessly. One sat right on top of her dollhouse, waiting for her to return. They knew how to climb and could jump great heights, even in a house built for a giant; sooner or later, one of them would find her up there.   
  
One thing she knew for certain; this was a deliberate attack. Ten cats didn’t sneak into forest cottages all at once by coincidence. And she knew the shape sitting in the windowsill, mocking her before it leaped away.  
  
The Toad wanted to make sure she knew she was never, ever safe.


	8. The Princess and the Toad

“Hide.” Philomene whispered the command to Melchior as she clung to the thick hairs on his back, watching the jewel attached to the moth’s thorax flicker. He was already hiding up in the rafters, but she knew he needed reminders and reassurance. The “Enlightenment Jewel” was a flimsy and poorly-constructed thing which had interfered with Melchior’s natural survival instincts without completely elevating him to sapience, leaving him with the intelligence of a small child. And frightened children needed advice from adults.   
  
It could have been worse for him. By the time the Thumbelina Royal Guard had put a stop to Lord Germain’s inhumane experiments in Animal Enlightenment, many of the poor test subjects were dead or trapped in permanent rages. Philomene had managed to rehabilitate and stabilize Melchior, earning herself a pet and friend. The idea that she might now indirectly owe her life to the monstrous Lord Germain made Philomene feel a little queasy, though the smell of rotting leaves from the roof didn’t help.   
  
At least she could take comfort in the knowledge that Lord Germain would still be rotting in a prison once Thumbelina was restored, provided he’d survived the disaster. That, of course, assumed that anyone had survived it.  
  
“Concentrate, Philomene,” she whispered. “This is no time to be distracted. One thought at a time. Cats are the immediate threat. Avoid being seen by cats, then worry about the Toad and the plants and everything else.”   
  
She looked around the roof area. Melchior generally slept inside the room, as even with his camouflage and large size he would be unsafe outdoors. Whoever had managed to open the window and let those monsters in had shut it closed as soon as the Toad was gone. For once, the massive size of the cabin was a boon to Philomene; built for and by a giant, it was like a vast cavern in and of itself and dwarfed the cats. They would at least have to sniff around more and take some well-timed leaps over furniture to make it to the rafters.   
  
Unfortunately, that big one was sitting on her ‘dollhouse’ laboratory. She could just imagine pots and potions tipping over, glass shattering and potted seeds strewn about every time it poked its big paws into the now-broken front window. That must have been the other message the Toad wanted to send her. He knew she was out there, he could send creatures to kill her at any time and he was never going to let her complete her research.   
  
“I sent the message to Marjorie. She should be here soon.” For all of her many faults, Marjorie could never be described as ‘unreliable.’ She literally would drop everything and come running if Philomene asked, much as the princess was loathe to demand it. “I can’t tell if those animals are Enlightened like you, or even like the Toad. They seem to be acting like regular cats…”  
  
A careful examination revealed that the door to the bedroom was open just a crack. It wasn’t enough to herd the cats through, but if she pressed flat against Melchior he might be able to climb through. She whispered the order to him and the moth took off flying, landing square on the wall next to the door.  
  
Two cats looked up at her, meowed and stretched up in an attempt to swat at her. They couldn’t get anywhere close, but just seeing their great eyes and fanged mouths leer at her from below made Philomene want to disappear into that wall entirely. The fact that riding like this and holding onto Melchior when he was sideways did a number on her back only increased her agitation.  
  
“Go. Through there. Now!”   
  
Philomene had to hold her breath and felt the surface of the door brush against her, but the moth managed to make it through the door to the kitchen area that served as the cottage’s atrium. It was even more cavernous than the bedroom had been, though much cleaner than the last time Philomene had seen it. Then, safe in Marjorie’s hands, she’d observed walls thick with dust and cobwebs. The new inhabitant must have spent some time tidying up, though he apparently had very few possessions other than some heavy-looking books and the pots and pans that now hung in the kitchen. What must have once been a dinner table had been used as a work surface, covered with a dusting of flour.  
  
And one frog.  
  
The Toad stood up on two legs, croaking and bowing with an oily smile. “I thought you might make your escape out here,” he said in a voice like gargling. His brownish-green back was covered with white spots, as it had always been. “Care for a meeting, Your Highness?”   
  
She didn’t want to face him again. She couldn’t, not now. Her desire to just bury herself in Melchior’s fur and pretend she hadn’t heard him  was difficult to fight. Instead she instructed him to land on the edge of Ezra’s cast-iron frying pan, letting her peek out over it from a safe distance.  
  
He wouldn’t go until she spoke to him, and if she could delay him long enough Marjorie would return to throw her shoe at him. “I think I’ll speak with you from here, if that’s quite alright.”   
  
“If the lady wills it. Don’t you think this has gone on long enough? You can make it all go away. You know you can.”   
  
“You threaten me with cats and think it’ll endear me to you!?” The nerve of that wretched amphibian, acting as if she could fix everything just by bowing to his will. That was really all it was about, wasn’t it? Just an ego trip for him. “Don’t you even care what happened to Thumbelina? You won’t even take responsibility for your actions?!”  
  
“The Green Witch will listen to me! She promised. She said she’d hold off and fix everything if you marry me.” The Toad puffed out his throat like a great spotted bubble. “So that would make you the selfish one, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“Fix everything.” Philomene took a deep breath, refusing to lose her temper even in front of a traitor. “When Thumbelina Kingdom is restored I’ll see you rotting away in a very dry jail. That might not ‘fix everything,’ but at least justice would be served.” Philomene could think of worse fates for the Toad, but such thoughts were unbecoming and best avoided.   
  
Then she went over his words in her head again, and something clicked. She narrowed her eyes. “What did you say about a Green Witch?”  
  
The Toad’s yellow-brown eyes went wider, and he started to hop about the table in mild panic, leaving little footprints in the flour. “I said nothing. I said nothing! Don’t tell her I said anything, please! She’ll squeeze my guts out and turn me into flower fertilizer…”  
  
So, that confirmed it. Philomene knew that the Toad couldn’t possibly have magic of his own. For a second, Philomene almost fel sorry for the Toad. It hurt to see him reduced to this, so mad with delusions of grandeur that he thought blackmailing her into marriage would somehow spare him from whoever he’d made a deal with.   
  
Then she thought of a sea of choking vines, her mother and father asleep in their beds surrounded by briars that just wouldn’t stop growing and spreading. She remembered a hollow mountain erupting with blood-red roses and glowing blue flowers. Those memories did a fine job of devouring any sort of pity for a former friend.  
  
“As if I could tell her. All you did was confirm she exists. Was she the one who opened the window, Toad? Are the cats hers?”   
  
Bulbous eyes glanced back and forth. “I-I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you any more!” The Toad leaped about in panic, finally landing in a small pile of flour. It stuck to him in a way that would have been funny once upon a time. Now Philomene could derive no pleasure from his presence.   
  
“You’re not good at pretending to be secretive.” And Philomene felt like just as much of a liar, putting on a brave face when she still wanted to order Melchior to keep flying and not look back. Still, she was getting information out of his panicked state. “What was your plan here? To scare me? To ruin my research? If one of those cats had eaten me I wouldn’t be able to marry you, and your whole plan would have been for nothing.”  
  
“It was to speak to you! You won’t talk to me unless I send cats after you. And don’t you mock me, Princess!” Out went the bubble throat again. “Sooner or later you’ll realize there’s no way to undo that spell other than the one she knows, and she answers to me.”  
  
Of course. Whoever this Green Witch was had easily been able to manipulate the Toad by stroking his ego and giving him the illusion of power over a larger, stronger being. Philomene hadn’t studied people and the way they worked to the degree Marjorie had, but even she could see that.  
  
The problem was, why? The Green Witch had nothing to gain from the fourth princess of Thumbelina Kingdom marrying an enlightened Toad. In fact, she couldn’t see how anyone would benefit from cursing an entire kingdom and refusing to take credit.   
  
“Of course, it was all my idea,” the Toad continued. He had apparently regained his bravado. “She just agreed to help me because she thought it was such a smart idea. In fact, wait until I show you what she lets me do now.” He held up his front left arm, revealing a gold band clinging to the warty flesh.   
  
Philomene’s instinct was to try to interrupt whatever he was about to do, in case this Witch had given him another magical boon. On the other hand, if he was going to reveal it to her so easily she ought to observe it first. Besides, she could see no better way to demoralize him than to let him understand his fear tactics would not work on her. Let him turn into a warthog or make it rain indoors. It wouldn’t stop her research.   
  
“See, I just have to…erm. Hmm.” The Toad was tugging at the gold band, his wide mouth frowning. “It’s stuck. Just a few turns, you see, and…”  
  
They both heard the quiet rumbling in the distance and felt the soft vibrations of the walls as someone walked onto the flimsy front porch. Philomene and the Toad were of such a size that they could not help but be aware of when larger beings were approaching; their booming voices and thudding footsteps gave them away. Marjorie’s steps were easy to recognize, close together, as was her fast-talking nasal voice. The fact that Philomene could hear her voice meant that Marjorie was talking to someone; she had not returned alone.  
  
A much greater thud followed, and the Toad looked as if he might throw up.   
  
Philomene couldn’t help but indulge in a little bit of mean-spirited intimidation of her enemy after the scare she’d had. “Oh, did you not notice? Didn’t she tell you? A giant lives here! Not just a big human, but a walking mountain from the clouds. He’ll blow you away with his breath.”   
  
“A-a giant? I’m not afraid! Of a human or a giant!” The Toad tugged frantically at his ring again. “What’s wrong with this thing?! Come on, work! It worked earlier! Rotten, rusty piece of-”  
  
The door swung wide open. The moment the Toad saw his opening he went for it, hopping right past Marjorie and the human next to her before the former had time to react. Marjorie jumped and yelped, and something behind her spoke in a deep rumble.  
  
“Was there a frog on my worktable?!”  
  
“Marjorie!” Philomene was so happy to see her maidservant, she didn’t mind Melchior taking right off and landing right on Marjorie’s hand. “It’s bad! There are cats out there, in the bedroom, and, and…what’s wrong?”  
  
Marjorie was looking a bit wide-eyed at Philomene, and then turning red. She gestured behind her bony shoulder at the shapes behind her.   
  
There was indeed another human, this one so wrapped up in furs and scarves it was hard to make out what he looked like. He was giving Marjorie confused glances.   
  
Behind him was something Philomene could only describe as a walking mountain in a baker’s apron, staring down at her with befuddled gold eyes.   
  
It was Marjorie who spoke first. “You’re safe, Princess?”  
  
“Princess?!” The fur-clad human and giant shouted at the same time, the resulting thunder pounding in Philomene’s ears.   
  
She hid her wince out of decorum, stood on Melchior’s back with unsteady legs and managed to lift her skirts in a curtsy. “Princess Philomene Marl Thumbelina. Melchior, land on the table. We probably need to have a talk.”


	9. Green Magic

Ezra had helped Basil and Marjorie chase out what was by his account an absolutely ludicrous number of stray cats, snooped the area for mice or another frog on Marjorie’s advice, and moved a half-broken bookcase to barricade the door just in case. Aurora, the bear, was guarding the exterior of the cabin. Now there was nothing more to do than to sit at the table only ever used for baking and hear the truth.   
  
The thick wooden table had obviously been built by the previous owner, a man considerably taller than Ezra. Marjorie and Basil needed to sit on top of cookbooks in order to reach. The tiny Flower being sat on the table with her dress puffing out around her, somehow dignified despite being covered in a dusting of flour. The moth, which Ezra now recognized as the one which had landed on him when he’d first arrived, was sitting on the kitchen wall and resting.  
  
It was a little hard for Ezra to see the princess. He could make out a humanoid shape with dark skin, black hair with purple streaks that must have been ribbons, and a purple gown with bell sleeves. Her face was too small to perceive. If he had to concentrate to notice a human’s eye color, he would need a magnifying glass to read her expressions. It meant he had to rely on her voice and broader expressions to communicate with her. And what if his voice sounded like an earthquake to her? If humans were enormous in comparison to Philomene, how must he look?  
  
Self-consciousness made him sink back into his seat. What nonsense! His was the default size, so why did it bother him now?  
  
It was Marjorie who spoke first, at the princess’s blessing. Her face was a little red and there was a hint of unsteadiness in her voice, but she otherwise hid any shame she felt at having hidden Philomene from them. “So! As I’m sure you have figured out by now, this is our true reason for hiding out here. In all fairness to me, and I think I do deserve at least some fairness, I did tell Ezra that I was here on behalf of my mistress in distress. And she is absolutely in distress.”  
  
“So it would seem, milady.” Basil was switching between studying the princess and giving confused looks to Marjorie. He seemed a little put off by the size of the furniture, insisting on standing on his chair. “But why did you tell me you had a sick grandmother?”  
  
Marjorie frowned and tapped her chin. “That was a lie, yes. My grandmother is dead. But you have to understand, we were out here in the middle of nowhere and it was quite a stressful situation. Very much a change from palace life. You’re a prince, surely you must understand that?”   
  
“Marjorie!” Philomene’s tiny voice somehow managed to fill the room anyway. She stood up with the help of her cane and managed to stare down Marjorie. “We misled that poor boy and our landlord. Even if it was fear of my own safety, that doesn’t justify it.” She turned towards Basil and Ezra, giving a bow. “As this was done in my name, I ask you to accept my apology. We will explain everything; we owe you that much.”   
  
Marjorie looked for a moment as if she’d been slapped. “Princess, you needn’t apologize for me. I-I mean…” She looked so much like she wanted to sink into the wood of the chair that Ezra felt it difficult to maintain his irritation with her.   
  
“It’s alright,” he mumbled. “Really. Mostly I’m just hurt that you thought I’d ever endanger Princess Philomene.” He glanced away, hiding a scowl. “I know I’m bigger than you all and must be a frightening sight sometimes, but I’d rather not be treated like a criminal down her before I’ve even had a chance to do anything.” Not that he’d done anything up there, he added mentally. At least he could understand why the humans might regard him with suspicion, though it was impossible to tell what the little Flower Folk thought of him.  
  
“Anyway.” He clasped his hands under his chin. “You can stay here as long as you like, if it’s still safe for you. I’m not sure why you call me ‘Landlord’ since neither of you pay any rent, but Marjorie did tell me about the Market. I wouldn’t be able to make a living without it. And a baker who can’t bake is like a…a…it’s a…I’m not a poet and I’m no good at metaphor. You know what I mean.”  
  
He heard a tiny giggle from Philomene. “That’s simile, Mr. Kettle. But thank you! It will be a great asset to have you on our side. Nobody threatens a giant…”  
  
At this Ezra felt himself blush and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’d be surprised…” But even if it was only due to his relative size, it did feel nice to be wanted for once. Wasn’t he supposed to be angry at Marjorie for lying? He really was a pushover.   
  
It was Philomene who turned to Marjorie. “I understand,” the princess said. “You just wanted to do what you thought was best to protect me. I respect your loyalty, and I’m sorry I yelled at you. But we should try being a bit more straightforward from this point on. It’s okay to trust some people.”  
  
“I know, I know…” Marjorie apparently turned into a scolded puppy around the princess, her usual slick confidence having melted away. “I really am sorry about that, you two. It’s just that-”  
  
“Princess!” Basil interrupted Marjorie, leaning forward on the table and staring down at the poor Flower girl. “I don’t know what Thumbelina Kingdom is or what dangers you’re hiding from, but as a prince I vow on my honor and this, um, table to do everything in my power to protect you and defeat whoever threatens you! You have my sword and my courage and my strength, and I won’t rest until justice is done!”   
  
Philomene was crouching and covering her ears, and her tone sounded a little pained when she looked up at Basil. “Thank you, Prince Basil. I appreciate all of those things. But perhaps you’d like to hear what that threat is before you make that promise?”  
  
“I hold the promise all the same! Be it dragon or wizard or wicked giiiaaaogre, I vow to-ow! Marjorie!” Basil shot a little glare at Marjorie as she pulled him back onto his chair by his hood. Ezra, meanwhile, tried his best to ignore the little voice wishing that Basil would make that sort of vow to him. Ezra was not in distress at the moment, after all, and he knew he was being petty at the wrong time.   
  
“Her highness is probably a little exhausted from her ordeal, and would probably appreciate if you could abstain from CROWDING HER or LOUD NOISES.” Marjorie gave meaningful looks to Basil and Ezra. Basil retreated into his chair as he seemed to catch on.   
  
“I wasn’t being loud. Was I? Am I loud?” Ezra found listening to his own voice was an impractical way to tell.   
  
“No, dear, but just consider it a preemptive suggestion. As I was going say, I’ll let Philomene rest while I explain our situation,” Marjorie said.  
  
Ezra raised an eyebrow. “No lying this time? No fake grandmothers, no conveniently dropped information, no failing to mention other possibly high profile individuals living in this shack they’ve decided is my house?”  
  
“Promise! I owe you that much.” Marjorie held up her hands. “See? No fingers crossed. Nothing but a firsthand account of the fall of the Kingdom of Thumbelina, where humans and Flower Folk lived side by side in harmony. A tragic tale of Ezra where are you going?”  
  
Ezra was up on his feet, heading to the stove. “Tensions are obviously high, Her Highness has had a rough night and we’re all probably a little tired from the marketplace. We’re about to hear a story, and we’ll hear it over tea. And I set a cherry tart aside that I’m sure I can divide by four. Three and one very small sliver? Whichever. You’re all currently my guests and my pride demands I offer hospitality, something I would have done earlier if you weren’t always off by yourself.” That wasn’t entirely true, he had to admit; he’d mostly avoided Marjorie and pretended she wasn’t there. He also knew he was preparing tea mostly as a stress relief for himself, as he needed to do something a bit ‘normal’ after all that had happened that evening. There would be tea. He understood tea.  
  
Marjorie shrugged. “If you insist on offering us refreshments I certainly owe it to you not to turn them down. I’ll just start telling you the story.”   
  
  
“As I said, Thumbelina Kingdom is a place where humans and Flower Folk lived together. It was hidden in a hollowed-out mountain which, I have been told, used to be some sort of volcano. That detail is completely irrelevant to the story, but I thought you might find it interesting. It was lit from the inside by lanterns and luminescent mushrooms, with moss and greenery growing along the walls. Quite a lovely place. The humans who lived there resided in the bigger tunnels, and the Flower Folk lived in smaller residences inside the cavern walls or in hanging gardens. Flower Folk like Philomene give off a natural magical aura that makes plants grow more readily, so they were able to survive without much sunlight. The plants, I mean. A human monarch and a Folk one always ruled side by side in each generation, and any humans considered too much of a threat to the Folk were summarily exiled as a threat to the greater good.   
  
Ezra, are you okay? Do be careful! I’d hate to see you spill tea on yourself after you went to the trouble of making it.  
  
Ahem. So it’d been relatively peaceful for generations, until that Toad showed up. We had a few Enlightened animals residing in Thumbelina, mostly mice or insects. The Toad was not terribly bright, but he was quite obviously Enlightened and had apparently come to attend university there. That was his cover, anyway; personally I suspect he had this planned from the start.  
Well, some time passes and he bursts from the library one day, claiming he has a right to marry one of the princesses, seeing as their ancestor, the Revered Thumbelina, ran away from a marriage to his ancestor, the…Toad. I suppose they’re all Toads. Not terribly creative, amphibians. This is quite a surprise to us and frankly a little baffling, as he had been a casual friend to the princess in the past. But no, he was absolutely adamant that one of them should marry him, carrying on about divine right of this and honor of his forefathers that. I don’t need to tell you how that went over, do I? He wouldn’t leave her alone, and was eventually expelled for such behavior. Rightly so!   
  
That should have been the end of it. But then things started going awry. The plants along the walls began growing out of control. It was slow at first, until suddenly we had entire tunnels clogged by weeds within a few hours. The central cavern almost collapsed when an entire oak tree sprouted within it, growing in a matter of minutes. We humans helped the Flower Folk evacuate as the disaster became more dire, but we could only do so much.   
  
The Toad arrived and claimed responsibility, which seems impossible as he hadn’t a single bit of magic. He said he’d let up if the Princess would marry him. She actually considered it, being a selfless leader of her people, but that would have only made the situation worse. Besides, why should bullies get their way? Instead the guards attempted to arrest him and he vanished before a human could stomp him out, which is frankly a tragedy.   
  
When he vanished he left behind a puff of seeds, which landed and grew into briars. Those briars enveloped the palace, sprouting massive red roses which gave off some kind of poisonous scent. Anyone who breathed them in fell into some manner of sleep like death. Philomene was lucky to have been outside trying to investigate the phenomenon, and she was the only member of the royal family not affected by the curse. All she could determine was that Green Magic was used. That’s all we know!   
  
I was not lying about being the court jester. My family had been employed in that role for ages, though it was a cover for our true role as bodyguards. I was Philomene’s servant and still am, so I ran off with her to protect her. That’s how we ended up here, in the almost literal middle of nowhere.   
  
All we can do right now is figure out who did it and how they did it so we can reverse the spell. Oh, and bring whoever’s using this Green Magic to justice. Green Magic is what it sounds like, magic using enchanted plants. It’s a little like that aura the Flower Folk have, magnified by a thousand. But it’s usually considered small fry magic, used to increase harvest or create decorative flower beds. According to Philomene’s research there’s never been a precedent for it being used on this scale!   
  
So I’ve been going to Moonflower Market trying to pick up any sort of potentially magical bits and pieces I can get ahold of for cheap in exchange for my painted miniatures, and Philomene dissects them, soaks them or melts them down to try to find bits and pieces of spells. Neither of us is a wizard, but she thinks we might be able to assemble an antidote spell with the right components. It’s just a matter of finding them, which so far is proving to be like sorting out a single bead in a silo full of them. And I’m sure I saw some woman selling magic plants at the marketplace the other day, but she hasn’t shown her face since. But not all is grim! All we need is to find the right pea, the right seed, maybe the right enchanted bean and…  
  
Oh, Ezra! Really, are you alright? Splash some cold water on it!”   
  
  
Ezra had indeed spilled hot tea on his shaking hands, but he was almost too shaken to register the reddish mark on his palm. “No, it’s my fault. I made the water too hot. Just, pardon me. I might know something about this. You said…” He turned to stare at her over his shoulder. “You said plants, right? Enchanted plants?”  
  
Marjorie stared at him for a moment, and he felt as if he was being dissected in the name of science himself. “Yes, I did. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”  
“I know you said neither one of you knows how this was done, except that it used this Green Magic.” Ezra could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Is it possible that same kind of magic could make a beanstalk grow?”  
  
Marjorie glanced towards Philomene, and the princess considered for a moment before speaking in a squeaky, scholarly tone. “I don’t see why not. Just one beanstalk?”  
  
“Yes, but a very large one. One big enough to support the weight of someone my size.” It had not been enough to support Hamilton Tooth, who was considerably bigger. “One tall enough to reach from the Center of the Universe, I mean the land, to the Sky. One that could anchor its roots down here and its longest tendrils in a Cloud Island.”  
  
“I can only imagine how much magic that would take. I’d consider it impossible had I not seen what had happened to my own kingdom.” Philomene leaned on her cane. “I take it this isn’t a rhetorical question?”  
  
“Someone did it. I don’t know who, but someone did it and the result was that one of us ended up robbed and murdered. And that’s why I’m here, because the people of the Sky need a scapegoat in order to feel safe.” Ezra hoped the bitterness in his voice was not too apparent. “But I can’t imagine why they would. The Sky didn’t end up ravaged by plants the way Thumbelina did. The only thing the beanstalk brought was…"  
  
“Jack!” Basil snapped his fingers. “You’re talking about Jack!”  
  
Ezra twitched. “You know him, Prince?”   
  
“Why, word of his adventure has already spread far and wide! He traded his only cow for magic beans, and climbed to the Sky where he faced a ferocious giant who tried to eat him. He barely escaped with his life, returning with a harp that sings on its own and a huge goose that lays golden eggs. I heard about it when my brother came to visit me a few days ago. He said Jack told his story in song thanks to the harp, and earned the respect of the Ever After Empress herself. And…” Basil trailed off, covering his mouth. “Oh. Oh, wait. I see. I’m so sorry, Sir Ezra! I didn’t think about it. It must not have been so glorious for you.”  
  
“No,” Ezra managed, “it wasn’t. It’s quite alright, though.”  
  
He tried to remember the Jack he’d known, frightened and hungry, and reconcile it with what he’d heard. Jack couldn’t have been lying about his desperation, could he? And he was probably just a pawn, just like this Toad. And certainly Hamilton Tooth might threaten to eat a human in a drunken rage even if he probably wouldn’t actually go through with it. And that foolish, ungrateful little brat had HIS FAMILY’S GOOSE.  
  
Ezra took a deep breath. “Well! I’m happy for him. Really! He seemed like he needed some help.” The Sun would reward virtue in the end, he reminded himself. He had to gulp down half his tea before continuing, to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, you were talking about much greater problems and I dragged the conversation off to talk about my own. That was awfully self-centered of me. I’d love to help in any way I can, especially since we might be suffering from the results of the same Green Magic. But I really don’t know anything about it. I’m just a baker. Of course, as I said, you have my shelter…”  
  
“And my sword, and all I offered before. I can talk to my fairy godmothers to see if they’ve heard anything. I can defeat those wolves the next time they menace you!” Basil had bounced back completely from his misstep. Ezra had to admit, that was somehow a bit endearing. Basil’s cheer was contagious, as was his proud grin.   
  
So what if Basil occasionally misspoke, or Marjorie fibbed, or Philomene talked about concepts he didn’t understand? Basil saved him and was charming. Philomene seemed kind and noble, and Marjorie was, well, Marjorie.   
  
He found, for all the strange news regarding malicious plant magic and fallen kingdoms landing in his lap, he liked talking with them about it. That was something. Ezra hadn’t enjoyed talking with Hamilton Tooth about anything.  
  
“The wolves are odd. I don’t know how they fit into anything yet.” Marjorie thought about it and then shrugged. “And I promise to lie in service to this investigation…” She seemed to notice Philomene giving her a meaningful look, one too small for Ezra to see. “And to tell the truth to you,” she added. “Honest. Just, one knows what one is good at, right?”   
  
“You all might be of more help than you think,” Philomene said. “I would like to speak with you tomorrow in private, Ezra.”   
  
Ezra had no idea how he’d manage to converse one on one with someone so tiny, but he agreed with a little nod. There really was something authoritative about the princess.   
  
“I just can’t imagine why the same person would enact such complete destruction on a kingdom of Flower Folk,” Ezra said, “but play what amounts to a prank on Mielle. What could the motivation be? I mean, is it even the same person? We know it was plants. Plants!” He slapped his forehead. “That’s what I wanted to be on the lookout for at the marketplace! Magic plants, because of that. I spent all my money on seasonings and ingredients I can’t get ahold of instead. You know, for next time.”   
  
Basil patted his side. “It’s alright! You know for next time.”  
  
“I know. I just can’t believe it slipped my mind. I must have been distracted. It’s so late. I may just be tired.” His mind had been consumed with the idea of impressing someone. Who? Was it one of the customers? All he knew was that when he tried to think back, he was left with a strong urge to conquer one of those recipes in his book if it took him all night to do so.  
  
It had to be stress. Surely after such a night he had a right to stress, didn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've started posting more chapters here! Going to be two apiece for each update. (Again, if you decide you want to blaze through all of it, the whole thing's up on Jukepop. See the link on my author profile!) Hope you're having fun so far! There's still a lot to go.


	10. The Science of Diplomacy

“Cats, really. Why do humans keep them around? There has to be a less monstrous thing they can use to keep rats from getting to the grain stores.”   
  
Philomene had discovered to her relief that the cats had at least done at most minor damage to her laboratory dollhouse. One of the windows had been knocked in and the water the bean had been soaking in was now dripping onto the floor, a casualty of the impact of cat on house. But everything else was largely unchanged. Apparently the cats had just used the house as a thing to sit on rather than a toy to be explored and knocked over.   
  
If she was being honest with herself, she might not have been able to tell if anything knew had been tossed around. She recognized most of the little boxes, trinkets and cast-off aprons on the floor. All things she made a mental note to organize properly when she wasn’t quite so busy.  
Unfortunately, the entire place smelled unmistakably of cat. Opening the windows helped to air it out a little, but not enough to make it very bearable. By the time Marjorie was awake to take her to Ezra, she had taken to sitting on the surface of the table and hanging a few dresses out there for good measure. The last thing she wanted was to go about with the fragrance of mangy feline.  
  
“You’ll be alright, then?” Marjorie held Philomene cupped in her hands as she carried the princess into the kitchen. “I mean, I understand it’s a one-on-one talk. Which is perfectly fine! Diplomacy and all that. Oh, and the prince went home, so don’t worry about him being nosy.”  
  
“He went home? But it was so late last night…”  
  
“You sound like Ezra.” Marjorie shrugged. “His bear came to get him and took him home. I’d worry about going through the forest at that hour of night if one doesn’t have one’s own private bear.”  
  
Secretly Philomene was a little more relieved that the bear wasn’t present. She didn’t mind Basil, though she did want to have a private talk with Ezra for a reason. “And I will be perfectly fine. You said Ezra is gentle! We’re indoors, and the Toad isn’t going to try anything while I’m in the same room as a giant cook who probably knows how to make fried frogs’ legs.”  
  
After a few more minutes of reassurances, Marjorie set Philomene back on the table and retreated to the bedroom. Ezra hadn’t noticed; he was poring over an enormous old book with yellowed, tattered pages, and looked to be half asleep himself.   
  
Philomene realized a bit too late that she should have had Marjorie alert him. A few taps of her cane did nothing, and poking him seemed rude and possibly dangerous. She sat down, cleared her throat and shouted.  
  
“Excuse me, Mr. Kettle!”  
  
There was no reaction from the giant. He was still absorbed in his book. She had to stand a considerable distance just to see him as a humanoid shape; any closer and he’d be a looming tower of flesh and blood in need of a haircut. Already she could make out every wrinkle and stitch on the patches in his clothing and see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.  
  
Flower Folk had to be observant of everything around them. The world was full of snakes, large insects, birds and cats. The humans of Thumbelina were allowed to reside there by an ancient pact that required them to be careful underfoot and not abuse their size advantage, but even the most well-meaning ones could be very dangerous.   
  
A Sky giant was on a completely different level. Should Ezra so much as sneeze he could grievously harm Philomene. No wonder her people’s interactions with the Sky Islands were usually the duty of human diplomats writing letters to be delivered by bird, and incredibly rare at that.   
  
‘Such is the duty of a princess,’ she reminded herself as she walked over to the edge of the book. She waited until he was about to turn the page and then stuck her cane on top of it, clearing her throat. That seemed to startle him as his gold eyes finally settled on her, widening.   
  
“OH, PRIN-cess.” He was courteous enough to adjust the volume of his voice right away so it merely rumbled instead of boomed, sitting up and lowering his head in a sort of bow. “Forgive any rudeness. I didn’t see you there…”  
  
“Please forgive any rudeness on my part as well!” She hoped she’d be able to keep up this shouting. Marjorie had been kind enough to tell the story of Thumbelina Kingdom the previous night in part because her voice carried better. “Is now a good time for a talk? I realize you are likely a little busy…”  
  
“With work, yes.” Ezra’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, no! Now is a perfect time. Give me a chance to take a break from this.” She could tell from how quickly he spoke that it wasn’t completely true and he didn’t want to be rude. Just let me set this book aside.”   
  
He opened a calloused hand that could have comfortably held half the Flower Folk in the Royal Court and she eased herself carefully into I as he held her up to eye level. He was squinting at her, his other hand supporting his chin. “Is this quite alright? I just prefer to be able to make eye contact when speaking, so I imagine…”  
  
Of course he wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with her. The size difference was too great. That must have meant he was doing this for her benefit, so she could look directly at him while she addressed him. She would have to reward such thoughtfulness, and made a note to do so.  
  
“Thank you, Ezra! Please don’t mind if I sit.”  
  
There was a moment in which he was clearly waiting for her to start, and she had to rehearse her words to remember just how she was going to bring it up. ‘I should have paid better attention during diplomacy lessons.’ As it was up to her, she cleared her throat.   
  
“First of all, thank you again for your continued hospitality. My servant tells me that you’re not here on the land of your own free will, and right now this is the only shelter afforded you. It’s very generous of you to let us stay here, especially as you’ve let Marjorie have that oddly well-furnished room.”  
  
“Really, it’s nothing! I’m used to sleeping sitting up,” Ezra said. “And this is where I work, at least until I can return to the sky. That bedroom looked like it had been set aside for a lover or something anyway.” Realizing he might have blurted something untoward, he turned red in the cheeks. “I mean G. Chulainn’s lover! Maybe. No offense to Marjorie, but I don’t see her that way at all. And honestly, there’s no reason it should have been in the condition you found it in. It might have been enchanted, and I’d rather stay away from enchantments.”  
  
Philomene figured she’d best continue before Ezra made more excuses for his own kindness lest someone notice it was there. “Actually, I need to ask for a little more help. Do you mind if I ask you about your family?”  
  
His eyes widened and he sat up a bit straighter. “The Kettles? You’ve heard of us down there? By which I mean down in the mountain cities, not down as in height. You know what I mean.”   
She chuckled. “You’re the one nervous around me? It’s alright, Ezra. You can relax. And yes, here and there are records of human gentry ordering cakes and desserts fashioned by a member of the Kettle family. I doubt any of your line were able to bake for Flower Folk, of course, just by virtue of scale.”  
  
Ezra glanced aside. “Well, we can try,” he said quietly. “Would you like to request something, Princess? I was able to buy a magnifying glass at the market last night. It’s a bit small itself but I can manage. Really!”  
  
She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary, though if I’m ever in need I will be sure to commission you.” The image of great Ezra leaning over a table, carefully decorating a cake for Flower Folk, amused Philomene so that she found herself grateful the distance likely kept him from noticing her covering her mouth and stifling a laugh. “No, I just need to know more about your line. I know it sounds abrupt, but I do have my reasons. Just before I can tell you, I have to know if I’m thinking of the right Kettles.”  
  
“You want to know about us? Well.” Ezra held his head a little bit higher, oddly imitating the poise and pride of a highborn noble. Then again, why wouldn’t an artisan family hold themselves in esteem? “For generations we developed new cooking and baking techniques, working our very heart and soul into our craft until we were known not only throughout Mielle but across Vox itself and the other Sky Islands. My ancestors could create feathers out of spun sugar and reproduce paintings with glaze on canvases of cake. We made pastries filled with gryphon’s milk cream and candies shaped like jewels made from the juice of pomegranates.”  
  
“Those ingredients sound expensive…”  
  
“Oh, they were! Terribly so. But our work merited a high price, and we were able to afford luxuries like that even with the high price of goods in the Sky. Which is ridiculous, might I add! Having seen what that Market charged by comparison, I-am getting off topic, sorry. And I hope this doesn’t sound too arrogant. But it’s all true, at least as far as I’ve known.” He played with the pages of the book with his free hand. “And we still have most of our recipes. At least the very old ones. Or, well, what’s in these books…”  
  
“I see.” This didn’t sound like the work Ketyl had written about, but it couldn’t have been a mere coincidence. Philomene decided to probe a little further. “And you have always created luxuries?”  
  
“Not always. We’ve always baked and cooked, with at least one member of every generation taking up the mantle. Often two. But we used to do more modest work to get by, according to stories my mother told me. That would have been a long time ago, grandparents of grandparents at least and probably moreso.” Ezra frowned. “Of course, I’ve only ever done modest work. I hope it doesn’t disappoint you, Princess, but Kettle is a fallen name by now. The cost of goods went up too high, our craft fell out of favor. We went into debt just to keep ourselves afloat. Then there were family splits and other disgraces.” From the distant look on his face, he apparently didn’t want to go into detail. “In recent generations especially. As far as I know now I’m the last one.”   
  
“And you can bake with Kettle techniques?” That was key.   
  
“I…” Ezra bit his lip, eyes shifting like a scolded dog. “I know the pastry crust recipe. Pancakes. Not much else. By the time I was old enough to learn my mother was in no condition to teach me, and Father was already gone. After she passed I was sent out of ‘charity’ to work my family debts off under someone who had a distinct interest in keeping me from learning Kettle baking, and I never had time to study the old recipe books I inherited. Like this one.” He took a deep breath. “But it’s quite alright! I have more time now, and an audience! Someone wants me to learn how to bake like the old times, so I’m teaching myself. Someone very important, someone…whose name keeps eluding me. I must have been tired by that point.”  
  
That Ezra could not remember someone who had planted such a strong idea in his head worried Philomene, but she couldn’t let herself be sidetracked. That he was not trained in Kettle techniques at all was less than ideal, but he was willing to learn. She stood up for a moment. “Do you mind letting me see that book? From a safe perch, of course.”  
  
Ezra seemed to hesitate, glancing between the book and Philomene.  
  
“I won’t spill any secrets,” she added. “Promise. And you needn’t worry about me being competition. I cannot cook at all.”   
  
At that he relented, holding his hand over the book and letting her look over. She peered down at the sea of old paper, making out swirls of ink that flowed like thin clouds.   
  
“Ah!” she cried out. “Skyscript! Old Skyscript, in fact.” She looked over her shoulder back at Ezra. “Is that the problem, translating it into the modern way of writing?”  
  
“Not exactly. We all had to learn a little Old Skyscript for Sun festival services. Do you mind if I set you down? My hand is falling asleep…”  
  
“Oh! Of course, of course.” Philomene let him lower her down and climbed carefully back onto the book, making sure not to wrinkle or tear pages with her shoes. She could already start to read and translate the words in her head, though they were so big she couldn’t decipher full sentences. “I had to learn a number of languages in my studies, Old Skyscript among them. I can help you.”  
  
“Can you?” Ezra blinked. “You would? Forgive me for asking, but why? I imagine saving Thumbelina’s a higher priority than my attempts to bring back Kettle cuisine. Especially since this book wouldn’t even have the instructions to make our masterpieces, just various techniques I’ll have to navigate to make my own.”  
  
“That’s just it. These are the very old recipes, right? Ezra, did you know baking is a kind of science?”  
  
“It…” He stared down at her. “It really isn’t. I mean there are books involved, but no needles or gears…”  
  
“Medicine and mechanics are not the only kinds of science. You use yeast to make dough rise, right? And you measure just the right ingredients. It’s all chemistry, and chemistry is absolutely a science.”   
  
“So…” Ezra tilted his head. “This is all for the pursuit of ‘science?’”  
  
“No. I do have an ulterior motive. You see, I know it sounds ridiculous but I think these books might hold the secret to understanding how Green Magic was turned into a weapon against my people and possibly yours.” She looked up at him with utmost seriousness, in hopes it would make it sound a little less silly.   
  
Her response was another incredulous stare. “With baking.”  
  
“How to explain…” Philomene tapped her cane. “You see, science and magic aren’t that different, despite what some practitioners of both will claim. One’s more about studying the nature of reality and the other is for tweaking it. And I think that what you inherited is not merely a recipe collection but a book of spells, one of the last records of culinary Hearth Magic as developed by the Sky wizard Ketyl. If that is…!” She hoped she wasn’t letting her excitement get the best of her. “If it is, we might be able to undercover the secret to countering the rampant Green Magic. Using Hearth Magic, you could make soups that bring visions of the future or almond cookies which change hair color. It’s all in the ancient records! Even if most of it is theoretical and hasn’t been proved in practice in a long time. And even if I suspect the techniques were lost when your family started pursuing more higher-class and lucrative interests…” She stopped to catch her breath. “I can help you learn the techniques and observe how it works, and even if we don’t find a counter-spell I can use the data I get from observing magic in action to-to…”   
  
It was as if a wall had shut in front of Ezra, all his warmth gone from his face. She worried at first she had angered him and he would retaliate when she was at her most vulnerable, but instead he just stood up, turning away from her.  
  
“I’m sorry. There’s no magic involved.” He didn’t sound offended so much as hurt.  
   
“…But, there is. I mean, there was.” Philomene couldn’t let a subject drop when it came to her kingdom, even if it was clear to her she likely should. “I didn’t mean to insult your family, Ezra, honestly.”  
  
“It’s not that. But we don’t do magic and we never have. Period!” As he shouted the last bit, the table shook under Philomene’s feet. He turned around again, gently easing her off the book before he closed it and lifted it up in both arms, all the while refusing to make eye contact with her. “I’m sorry, Princess, but I have to get back to work. I have a client to impress and only a week to do so, and you’ve seen how much work I have ahead of me. No offense, but I’d rather do it myself.” He almost seemed to be hiding behind his bangs. “I’ll keep an eye out at the market for anything that might help you, but I’m just a baker. I’ll go get Marjorie for you…”  
  
As he disappeared from the room, Philomene slumped back down onto the table. Her back was sore from standing that long and guilt prodded at her stomach. How had she managed to step on a nerve so easily? Wouldn’t anyone be thrilled to know they could have that kind of power at their fingertips? And here she had worried he would be too reckless with it.  
  
“I’ll have to try again,” she whispered to herself. She could ask Marjorie’s advice, as Marjorie had that way of getting people to do things they wouldn’t have otherwise while believing it was their own idea. But that was trickery, and hadn’t she said promised herself she would avoid deceit?   
  
“Client, is it…” Had someone else recognized the name of Kettle and what it really meant, or had Ezra just found a glutton with high class tastes? When had Ketyl’s descendants gone from practicing her magic techniques to more mundane culinary arts? And more importantly, was she barking up the wrong tree? She couldn’t force him to help her.   
  
Unless someone was trying to twist Hearth Magic in the same ways Green Magic had been warped.   
Marjorie came into the room wincing. “Ezra’s in a bad mood, the poor dear. He said he’s off to go fishing, and I’m sure that boy has no idea how to fish.” She bit her thumbnail and held Philomene in her free hand, which felt comparatively snug after the vast plane of Ezra’s hand. “Did it not go well? At least we know he doesn’t have a violent temper, thank goodness.”  
  
“It could have gone better.” Philomene sighed. “I’m afraid I might have let my enthusiasm for magic get the best of my diplomacy skills. But I’ve made a decision. When Ezra goes with you to the market next week, I’m coming too.”


	11. A Cleverly-Titled Chapter About Fish

“Don’t go out when it might rain, Basil.” Basil clung to Aurora’s back as he pulled his hood up over him, ignoring the numb chill already seeping into his fingertips and toes. “You’ve got to stay inside, Basil. Do they think I’m still a child? I’m old enough to shave!” He ran a gloved hand over his smooth chin and frowned. “Eventually. Twenty is an adult by any standard! I know exactly what I’m doing out here. Don’t I, Aurora?”  
  
Aurora didn’t make any reply as she ambled out into the woods, leaving behind the clearing housing the cottage, chicken coop, stable and garden. The air around it shimmered from the magical aura of heat his fairy godmothers maintained around it, and some part of him longed to return to it already. The sun hid behind fat gray clouds, making the dense forest just a bit chillier.  
  
The weather around the Blue Forest was warmer than it had been in his father’s mountain kingdom, but it was temperamental. Spring warmth occasionally lapsed back into the dreary, dank showers of late winter. On that day cooler winds blew through the valley, shaking the evergreen branches and forcing Basil to pull his scarf around his face.   
  
“I love them, really! But if they had their way, I’d be sitting around all day in a hothouse like a pampered rose. What sort of adventurer can only go out when the weather’s fair? It isn’t as if I’ll immediately freeze to death just from getting a little cold water on me.” He rested his chin on the back of the bear’s broad head. “And now that I know something’s afoot and someone needs help, how can I not assist?”  
  
This time there was a deep groan from the bear’s throat, though Basil knew she was probably reacting to the beehive he steered past with insistent nudges. “Now, now. While I’m sure they’d appreciate a gift of honeycomb, Grandmother Violet said there’s a trick to that involving boiling water. And you’d eat it all. But let’s pretend you were agreeing with me. There’s got to be something we can do about that Green Witch situation, don’t you think?”  
  
Aurora snuffled.  
  
“Something…” Basil sighed. His godmothers had agreed to look into the ‘Green Witch’ problem, but neither one had heard of such an entity. There was only so much they could do, and he knew it. They were pooling their magic and energy into keeping him warm and safe. That was the worst part. He was the reason they couldn’t go about granting wishes. They were still bound to him.   
  
“If it wasn’t for this stupid curse…hey! Hey, Aurora!” He tugged at the reins that hung loosely from Aurora’s mouth, but the riding bear didn’t listen as she diverged sharply from the overgrown forest path. “We’re going to the G. Chulainn cottage. You know the way! Don’t be stubborn!”  
  
The bear ignored him, padding along towards the sound of running water. Basil sighed, hopping off to walk alongside her and slowing her gait with a tug. “Okay, okay! We’ll go to the river first. As if you don’t eat enough at home.” He patted her hide. “Still making up for the winter, old girl?”  
  
He remembered days and nights spent indoors, doing monotonous stretches to keep himself in shape and hovering near the fire, and shuddered. “Don’t blame you.”  
  
Aurora plodded towards the banks of the seemingly unnamed river that cut through the Blue Forest like a vein, no doubt with fish on her mind. As the two neared the clearing in the trees Basil caught sight of a hulking figure stooping on the banks and a familiar voice spouting the occasional unfamiliar word in a context that suggested a curse.  
  
“Oh, Ezra!” Basil felt strangely apprehensive about seeing the giant again, though Ezra had been nothing but kind to him the previous night. But there was always the sense that the condescension someone that big and strong had to feel towards diminutive Basil had to be there somewhere behind Ezra’s fidgeting and aside glances. Still, Prince Charming was never a snob.  
  
Ezra startled and turned around, once again giving Basil a bit of an odd stare before speaking. “Your Highness!” He stood up, overalls rather soaked with mud and a large pot in his hand. “I take it you made it home safe? I was a little worried when you took off at such a late-well, early hour. And with the wolves and all…”  
  
Was he being treated like a fragile little thing again? And after he’d been the one to save this giant from those same wolves! Basil tossed his braid. “Ha! Wolves are no match for me. Or Aurora,” he amended. “Since I was mostly asleep on the ride back and all. What are you doing out here by the river?”  
  
“I’m fishing.”  
  
Basil paused, glancing down at that pot. It was damp but empty, and a little muddy.   
  
Ezra seemed to catch onto Basil’s confusion, blushing and frowning. “It’s a river, it has fish. I’m catching fish!”  
  
“With a pot?”  
  
“I-I don’t know how it’s done, alright?” Ezra set the pot on the ground and sat down next to it, right into the mud of the riverbank. “I’ve seen pictures of something with a string on a stick, and nets. I have no net but assumed anything that can be used to catch something would do…”  
  
Basil had to bite hard onto his lip to keep from laughing. A prince never laughed at the ignorance of others, especially outsiders. Instead he marched over to the river, Aurora at his side, and patted Ezra on the arm. “Fear not, my friend! I’ll teach you how.”   
  
Ezra lowered his head with a relieved sigh, face still a dark red. He raised a brow. “Do royals fish often?”  
  
“My family in the palace certainly wouldn’t fish! Except for leisure, I suppose. But here in the woods if one wants trout, one must catch it.” Basil couldn’t contain a big grin on his face this time. “You’ve really never seen anyone fish?”  
  
“There aren’t any rivers or lakes in the Sky Islands. The water circulates through the Clouds and wells up, but there aren’t any little things swimming around in it. Thank the Sun and Moon both.” Ezra shuddered in disgust. “Fresh fish is too much trouble to import even for the masked Merchants, so all we get is salted and dried fish. And it’s very expensive. But!” He gestured towards the river. “Here you get it for free! I suppose if you can find one…”  
  
“Ah, yes! The woods are abundant in the spring and summer.” Basil crouched by the riverbank and peered into the clear running water as Aurora waded right in. “Personally I don’t know how the rest of my family stands it, sitting around letting someone else serve them food drenched in sauces and salt.”  
  
“It’s a luxury.” Ezra was now resting with his elbows on his knees, watching Basil with a more relaxed look. “A mark of importance. It means you’re noteworthy enough to have food prepared especially for you to the standards of an expert chef. Or a baker, like me. I mean, I assume that’s the case?”   
  
Basil regarded him for a moment and then gave an exaggerated shrug, making it as clear as possible how little need he had for ‘luxuries.’ “Whenever I visit I always leave those feasts with a stomachache and a desire for simple fresh bread. Although it is nice seeing everyone. There’s a sort of community to it all that…”   
  
Wait, what was Basil going on about? He prided himself in how well he enjoyed his rustic forest life. He was absolutely fine, and wasn’t going to show signs otherwise in front of others. “Well,” he added, a bit louder than he intended, “it’s just not for me.”  
  
Ezra blinked and frowned again. “Come to think of it, why do you live out here instead of in your family’s palace? Isn’t it safer there? I mean, you are royalty, and…”   
  
Perhaps Ezra realized he’d said something wrong by the glare Basil shot him on instinct. Safer? What need did Basil have of safety? Prince Charming didn’t hide behind walls and adorn herself in jewels, did she?   
  
The chilly wind bit at Ezra’s fingers and the numb feeling crept to his wrists. He hugged his chest for a second until it passed.   
  
Prince Charming was also humble, and Basil had to remind himself again as he bit his thumbnail and took a deep breath. His smile came back, though perhaps his tone was a little too cocky. “Ha! And ha again at ‘safer.’ Just because I’m a human doesn’t mean I need to be hidden away!”  
  
“I didn’t mean it that way, Highness!”  
  
“And just because I can’t snap a tree branch in two doesn’t mean…” Basil caught himself, clearing his throat. “My apologies. That was unbecoming of me. I live here for my health. The fresh air is good for me.” That was a gross simplification of his situation, but it wasn’t untrue. A palace in the mountains was no place for someone in his condition.   
  
“I never said you were weak,” Ezra mumbled. “I…sorry, I’m doing rather poorly at conversation today. Can we get to the fishing?”   
  
“Right, of course.” Basil, trying hard not to dwell on how he’d managed to run his own mouth, whistled to Aurora and signaled her with a swooping hand motion.  
  
Aurora didn’t need to be told twice. She waited until just the right moment before she slapped a fish right out of the river onto the bank. It flopped around helplessly. When Ezra saw it he jumped to his feet and stumbled back, staring as if he worried it might explode.  
  
“Oh, Ezra! Lend me your pot!” Basil didn’t want for permission, grabbing the cooking pot and finding it remarkably heavy for something Ezra held one-handed. With a great deal of effort he refused to let show, Basil managed to fill the pot partially with water and toss the fish in. He caught his breath. “There! That’ll do for a bit. We’ll catch a few that way.”  
  
Ezra was still looking down at the fish with mild disgust and horror, pulling away from it. “It wiggled!”  
  
“Yes! They do that when you take them out of water.” Basil’s arms were still sore from moving that heavy pot, and he wondered at anyone who was strong enough to do that effortlessly but timid about a little fish.  
  
“Is it…common to fish with bears?”  
  
“Not at all, but there’s no better way if you ask me! Aurora’s such a good girl, as long as she’s able to eat every other fish she catches.” Basil looked proudly over to the white bear, who had a larger fish hanging out of her mouth.  
  
Ezra’s gold eyes were wide. “…Fascinating.”  
  
The water splashing against Basil’s trousers was starting to chill and sting as if he were being pricked with needles of ice, and he started to notice how numb his toes were under his boots. But he’d promised to help, and even if this seemed like a far less ambitious difficulty than the one presented by the Flower Folk princess, it was better than retreating back home and hiding under blankets. He told himself it was probably nothing, even as he pulled his cloak closer around him.  
  
“Are you cold? Do you need to come back and have a hot drink?” Ezra looked down at Basil with that unnerving concern again.  
  
“I’m fine! I-I mean, I’ll be quite alright. I appreciate your humble offer of kindness.” Basil knew the last bit sounded rehearsed and forced, and scolded him for having to fake gratefulness towards genuine, innocent compassion. Prince Charming wouldn’t have to do that, he was sure, curse or no curse. He decided to change the subject. “Come to think of it, what does a baker need with fish?”  
  
“It’s for a recipe. One of the fancier ones in my family’s cookbook. I believe the best way to learn something is to jump into it headfirst, and if I’m to come up with something more impressive for next week’s Marketplace trip I have to start soon.” Ezra rubbed his hands together, speaking faster now that he was in familiar territory. “You see, I found some cubed pumpkin preserved in a wax jar last time I went. For a good price, too! I’m astonished since they aren’t in season here, but I suppose they must be somewhere.”  
  
“…Pumpkin, sir? And fish?”  
  
“To quote the book, ‘a dish for elegant, refined and courageous palates: Herring and Pumpkin Pot Pie.’” Ezra spoke with reverence as if describing a treasured vase.  
  
Basil, meanwhile, had to carefully look away towards Aurora to disguise any terror that might be showing in his eyes. If it was a dish for courageous palates, he would have to try it. Besides, Prince Charming would certainly support a friend’s attempts to improve his craft. But pumpkin! And herring…!   
  
He could recall tasting strange combinations during his palace visits that seemed like they ought not to work but did, in the hands of the talented palace chef. He’d had meatballs cooked in honey and pork with dried fruit, and loved both.   
  
But _pumpkin_! And _herring_ …!  
  
A solution made itself clear, like a star in a dark fog.  
  
“Oh, er, Ezra? Herring is an ocean fish.”  
  
Ezra stared, some of the color draining from his face. “It’s an ocean fish? There’s a difference?” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide and bewildered. “I did not do as much research on the Center of the Universe as I thought. Oh, I can’t believe this!” He slumped and covered both hands with his face. “It’s all so complicated…”  
  
He had really wanted to make that fish pie, hadn’t he? Basil felt he’d never really understand fancy cuisine no matter how refined and courageous a palate he ought to have, but he was starting to regret derailing Ezra’s ambition so quickly. He hesitantly set a hand on the giant’s back, smiling. “There now, it’ll be alright! I’m sure we can make something with trout. Or you can make pumpkin tarts. Something simple!” And appetizing like strawberry pie, Basil added mentally.  
  
Ezra sat there in the mud for a moment before making eye contact with Basil again. “It isn’t that,” the giant said in a weak voice. “I mean, that is frustrating. I’ve just had a rough morning and thought I could clear my head with fishing so I could spend the afternoon practicing a recipe, but nothing is working out.”  
  
“Rough morning?”   
  
“I panicked when the princess told me something rather troubling, and I was rather abrupt and rude with her.” Ezra picked up a stick and stirred the water idly. “She seems like a wonderful person and I do want to help her. But it’s just…as I said, everything is very complicated here. The Center of the Universe is where the Sun and the Moon hid the discord of the world according to our religion, and I’m starting to think that’s the case. There are weird markets and creatures everywhere, the world’s entirely too small and too vast at the same time.” He looked upwards towards the cloudy sky. “You don’t even see the Sun every day.”  
  
Before Basil could answer, Ezra turned to him and smiled. It was a rather weak smile, but the first Basil had seen from the giant since they’d met. He looked striking when he did that, Basil had to admit.   
  
“Thank you for helping me, Prince. I didn’t mean to thank you with a litany of my own dull problems. But I just feel safe around you. You help people you don’t even know, and that isn’t very common where I come from. Is that part of your ‘Prince Charming’ persona?”   
  
“Well, I…” Whatever Basil had been about to say in modest but sincere pride fell out of his head as soon as he started to respond. He hadn’t done anything except teach Ezra about fishing. That wasn’t very princely, not compared with saving a kingdom. Shouldn’t he have been working on that? Certainly he felt warmer when Ezra smiled, but it was still a little spark. Basil needed a blaze.   
  
But a giant capable of breaking Basil in two if he felt the urge felt safe around him, when there was nothing more dangerous about than the weather. That had to mean something, didn’t it?  
  
“Wait, Ezra. What did the princess say?” As Basil went over Ezra’s words, a thought stuck to his mind like a burr. “Wait, why did she go to you for-agh!”   
  
Distracted by his own confusion, Basil took a step back into the slick mud and slipped, falling into the shallow banks of the river.   
  
The water was not deep and the current was weak, mud breaking his fall. But all Basil could concentrate on was the biting, painful chill of the cold river water engulfing his body. He forced himself to sit up and gasp for air, but could do little else besides shiver uncontrollably, unsure how he was even able to move his arms if he couldn’t feel them. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming too fast for speech. His cloak hung soaked around him, the fur dripping with mud and leaves.  
  
Ezra’s shouts sounded distant and incoherent, and Basil barely realized what was happening when a pair of arms lifted him up. Was he being carried by Aurora or Ezra? He could hear the bear’s alert rumbles and grunts, feeling a nuzzle of wet fur and warmth against his face. He found himself wrapped in Ezra’s tattered coat, though he couldn’t remember Ezra doing that.   
  
Then he found himself rushing through the woods, Ezra carrying him like precious cargo and following Aurora back down the familiar path. Basil retreated into the coat and shivered, unable to think of more than the terrible chill creeping down his arms and legs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm told herring and pumpkin pot pie is actually very good.


	12. The Woods Are Not So Safe These Days

Ezra hugged Basil close to his chest as he ran through the forest, following the grunting, galloping Aurora down an unfamiliar past. Basil was shivering, cold as ice even though he’d been wrapped, cocoon-like, in Ezra’s jacket. The water seeping through the jacket frosted at the edges. Was the river really that chilly?   
  
“It’ll be fine,” he reassured the prince, though Ezra wasn’t sure he believed his own words. “We’ll get you somewhere warm and dry! Just stay with me, Prince!” He couldn’t lose Basil now, not when they’d barely met! What would happen the next time the wolves came around? This world, the Center of the Universe, was huge, and everyone who lived in it was entirely too small. He needed to be able to think of someone as greater than he was in order to feel safe, even if it wasn’t literally the case.   
  
Besides, he was sure he had precisely three friends in the world and might have just alienated one of them. He couldn’t lose a second to the river.  
  
Aurora turned around abruptly and snorted, bearing her teeth. She was nearly as big as Ezra himself when she stood on her back legs, and even on all fours she was quite enormous. Ezra stumbled back, panic twisting his stomach in a knot. Was Aurora turning on him? Did she misunderstand? “No, I-I’m helping him! See? You can’t carry him right now with your fur all wet! Why am I even trying to talk to you? You’re a bear, not an Enlightened Animal…”  
  
“No, but I am.”  
  
The voice that spoke up behind Ezra was deeper than any man’s, rumbling and undercut with a growl. He could feel and smell hot, foul breath against his back. Only then did he realize that Aurora was baring her teeth not at him, but at whatever was behind him.   
  
Turning around very slowly revealed two gleaming red eyes and a maw of very familiar jagged, yellow teeth.   
  
The wolf flattened her ears against her head and growled again, the fur of her back standing on end. “You smell strange, like forest fires and lightning. Is it true the sunlight runs through your blood, Giant? That if I eat you my children will grow to the size of oxen?”  
  
“I have no idea.” Ezra scrambled back until he practically fell into Aurora, who shoved her way in front of him. “Stay away from me! I have a-a pot!” He reached for it with his free hand until he remembered it was still by the riverbank, probably a prison for that poor fish.   
  
Besides, he realized, he couldn’t fight while he was carrying Basil. It was too dangerous for the both of them.  
  
The wolf snorted. “So when you’re alone and your winter-smelling prince can’t help, you cower like a rabbit. Well enough for me. You’re more of a bonus.” She licked her lips with a long black and pink tongue, her mouth dripping saliva. “Hand over the prince and I’ll let you go free. No one will bother you by my orders. I am Mother Wolf, after all; this is my forest.”  
  
Ezra didn’t budge, and he clung to the prince like a precious treasure. He nudged Aurora. “We should go,” he whispered to her. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking; there was no way he could really outrun a massive wolf.  
  
“This is my forest,” Mother Wolf repeated, “and everything that comes to live in it is mine by right. You, the winter prince, the poison-smelling woman, even the mushroom hag…we’ll consume you all in the end!”   
  
That was the last warning she gave before she leaped forward, and Ezra stumbled into a panicked run. Aurora was able to keep pace much better, galloping on all fours to lead the way. Ezra’s lungs were burning after what felt like a few seconds, the sea of trees rushing by him and the wolf’s panting never far behind.   
  
He felt something grab his leg, followed by a searing, terrible pain so harsh and deep he fell immediately to the ground. As he cried out Aurora turned around, fetching Basil with her mouth and lifting him onto her back. The prince was thankfully conscious enough to wrap his arms around her neck as they ran forward, though he happened to glance back at the fallen Ezra.  
With the wolf’s jaws sinking into his leg, Ezra was in too much pain to concentrate on much anything. He forced himself to take one last look at Basil, so that he would at least die with the memory of his prince’s face.  
  
But those eyes! They had gone from brown to a strange, pale blue. And the look in them was so cold and indifferent, almost full of contempt.   
  
And then Basil and Aurora were gone, run out of view towards a clearing that was tantalizingly close. The sun had broken through the clouds, and a beam of sunlight taunted Ezra with how close it was. But the wolf was holding fast, and pulling him closer to her.  
  
She didn’t kill and eat him right away. Wasn’t it cats who played with their prey? Instead she turned him over forcibly and stood over him, paws forcing his shoulders down as if he would have been able to stand anyway.   
  
“My children are just learning how to hunt and eat solid food. I’m very proud of them. They’re going to help me kill you, as practice.” From the angle where she stood she appeared to be all scarred nose and chipped teeth. “Then when we kill the prince and give the mushroom hag what she wants, we’ll be strong and wise enough to take this forest back. It was our kingdom before those blue flowers showed up. It was the domain of the wolves…!”   
  
Ezra was in too much pain to say anything else, not even wanting to look at his leg. It burned and wouldn’t move at all. Mother Wolf was lean and powerful, with curved claws too sharp for a canine’s which dug into Ezra’s shoulders. She wasn’t even going to let him die quickly, he realized. And then she would…  
  
She would eat his friends. She’d promised as much.  
  
Where the strength had come from, he couldn’t tell. He was used to lifting heavy sacks of flour and wooden trays, doing the hard labor his old master saw as beneath him. Perhaps there really was more muscle under his body fat than he’d realized. Marjorie’s words echoed in his head: However you were up there, you’re quite strong in comparison down here!  
  
Maybe it was something else entirely that gave him the surge of strength to throw the enormous Mother Wolf off of him and into a tree, stunning the great beast for a few merciful seconds. But he had no strength in his legs to get back up. He felt something grab him by the back of his shirt and lift him up, and he didn’t have it in him to see if it was a wolf or a bear behind him before the world went dark.

* * *

Marjorie rocked back and forth on her heels, clasping her hands in front of her as she tried to talk sense into her princess. “You really want to go to the Market? W-why? I mean, it’d be so loud for you. Hundreds of humans, a few centaurs and even the occasional giant all shouting over one another, to say nothing of the awful music…”  
  
“You said the music was nice.” Philomene, sitting just outside of her dollhouse with her cane across her lap, simply was not relenting. “And that is not the point. I need to take a more active role in our quest. It’s my royal duty.”  
  
“You do take a very active role! And if you want me to be more aggressive in gathering data, I can certainly do that! It’s just, it’s just…” Marjorie bit her lip. Being a human in Thumbelina meant navigating around tiny, fragile entities without committing the terrible breach of etiquette that was drawing attention to their diminutive, mouse-sized nature. Marjorie had enough training in court manners to avoid that mistake most of the time, but there was no way to explain her issue without stumbling on it.   
  
Mercifully for her, Philomene seemed to pick up on the source of her discomfort. She gestured for Marjorie to sit down at the work table, which she did, and smiled. “You fear for my safety there, Marjorie. I understand.”   
  
“There are pickpockets.” Marjorie knew she sounded like she was pleading, and such a show of desperation was another breach of court etiquette. “There might still be bounties out there for your capture. Owls fly around the woods at night. And last time we were attacked by wolves-”  
  
“Wolves?!” Philomene covered her mouth. “You didn’t tell me about the wolves! Is that where those scratches were from?”  
  
Marjorie had almost forgotten about the scuff marks and scratches from their brief skirmish with the wolves. Goodness, but she must have been a sight at the Market that night. “I…did not want to worry you, but yes. Wolves appeared by the Moonflower Gate, and Basil seemed to imply they shouldn’t have been there at all. We were fine, of course! And any that tried to eat me would be in for an unpleasant surprise.” She laughed, though it was a hollow and awkward one.   
  
“Do you think they’re after us, too? The Toad and wolves in one night? It’s too convenient to be a coincidence.”  
  
“Except the Toad doesn’t want you dead, even if I suspect the Green Witch does. So far we’ve had nothing but scare attempts.” Marjorie huffed. “Hide in the Blue Forest, they said. No one ever finds you there, they said. Well, someone clearly did and if this place didn’t have the Moonflower Gate, I’d just as soon find a cave!” She took a deep breath to calm herself down, knowing as she did that she had to control her voice volume around Philomene. “And those wolves seemed most interested in Ezra, particularly the big one. Maybe he was right and they really were more interested in a larger meal than a blood-cursed girl with a willow-tree built.”  
  
Philomene was silent for a moment. “I wish you wouldn’t refer to yourself as a willow tree, given the circumstances. Speaking of, it’s been a week.” She held out her hand, palm-out, and Marjorie immediately knew the significance of the gesture.  
  
“Has it been a week? I’m sure that we did it a few days ago…” Marjorie knew how useless it was to try to fib to Philomene and relented, setting her hand down on the table with her index finger extended. “I’ve been feeling better, really.”  
  
“Have you?” Philomene always could manage a penetrating gaze when it suited her. She did not push the point, however, instead poking back into her dollhouse and coming out a moment later with a gleaming needle of amethyst and a little tray. The Holy-Blessed Needle, another Market find, did little more than keep itself clean and pure despite the name; still, at least Philomene no longer had to sterilize a pin in flames.  
  
But no matter how Holy-Blessed the needle might have been, it still hurt to get a pinprick on the fingertip. Marjorie looked away and winced as Philomene took the blood sample, but couldn’t help stealing a glance at her own blood on the tray.   
  
The words of her old House master came back to her. ‘To believe a lie can be comforting. It can be salve on a deep wound. Learn how to lie to yourself and when, but do not forget the truth.’   
If Marjorie squinted she could pretend the sample looked normal. She could focus on the vivid red and ignore the tiny droplets of green swirling around inside, or pretend there were fewer that week. It put her stomach and heart at ease, even as she saw Philomene frown through her examination.  
  
It was through her own little lie that Marjorie gained the strength to smile back down at the princess. She wanted to keep the topic as far away from her own condition as possible, and shifting it to a third party was too tempting. “Did your conversation with Ezra leave you frustrated? If he’s being a stubborn jerk, just let me know. I cannot believe he won’t even entertain the idea of using the Kettle recipes to help us. I had no idea he was so selfish underneath it all.”  
  
“I can hardly call someone who lets us stay in his own prison-home ‘selfish.’” Philomene was not meeting Marjorie’s gaze, concentrating on the sample and scribbling data onto a tiny scrap of paper with an ink-dipped hummingbird quill. “And he has no obligation to help us. I am not his liege, nor is Thumbelina his kingdom. It’s just disappointing…”  
  
It was obvious to Marjorie that Philomene wanted to hold it against Ezra. Why wouldn’t she? So Marjorie took it upon herself to be angry on Philomene’s behalf, to take the burden off her princess. It was her duty.  
  
“No obligation! I thought he was an ‘artisan’ who wanted to expand his horizons. I would think learning a bit of magic would count!” Marjorie was certainly planning on having a few choice words with him whenever he got back from his silly little midday fishing trip. “Just say the word and give the order, and I’ll concoct a way to get him to do it.”  
  
Philomene still didn’t look up from her notes. “I do not want to manipulate him, or force him to do anything against his will. He’s scared, Marjorie. I can’t say why, as our kind live alongside magic as readily as we drink water; perhaps for Sky Folk, it’s different. I don’t know much of anything about them.” She hung her head. “Talk with him if you wish, but please don’t be cruel.”  
  
“With all due respect, Highness, you’re a bit too kind sometimes. If it was between a few hurt feelings and the kingdom’s salvation…”  
  
Philomene winced before continuing. “Please don’t say it like that. We have no proof that Hearth Magic holds the key to opposing corrupted Green Magic. It’s just a start, and right now we have no real magic on our side other than the little tidbits we’ve collected. Hearth Magic is the magic of transformation and transmutation: sugar, flour, eggs and milk into cake, raw egg into solid, teas into potions. The chances that we could use it to transform those vines are slim even if he did master the art, but…”  
  
“But we have to grasp at any angle. Every thread of the spider’s web,” Marjorie said.   
  
“Exactly. I think Ezra would benefit a great deal from embracing his family’s lost arts, but I will not force him.” Philomene set her notes down, sticking the quill back in a tiny inkwell. “Well, correction. If I thought his magic could cure you…”  
  
“Oh, he doesn’t know about my curse.” This time it was Marjorie who had trouble looking Philomene in the eye. “I mean, there is just no reason to worry others…”  
  
“Marjorie! If he knew I’m sure he would do anything he could to help. Basil as well!”   
  
They both would, Marjorie silently agreed, and that was part of the problem. They didn’t need distractions from helping Thumbelina Kingdom or figuring out what was going on with the forest animals, and neither did Philomene. Marjorie’s life wasn’t worth the lives of three others, and certainly not worth a kingdom.   
  
“I’ll consider bringing it up when I feel it’s an appropriate time.” That was not a complete lie. As far as Marjorie could tell, there was no proper, pleasant time to discuss an incurable, terminal blood curse. “What’s that big lug got to worry about with magical cookies or enchanted bon-bons, anyway? That seems like the least scary kind of magic I can imagine.”  
  
“Green Magic is supposed to just involve making flowers bloom and gardens grow,” Philomene reminded her. “And I don’t think being big has anything to do with being afraid. You seem more nervous than I am about me going to the Market, and you’re quite huge yourself from my perspective.”  
  
“Well…” Marjorie had difficulty arguing with that. “I still think he shouldn’t be so concerned about making a special dish for some client or another when there are more important issues at work.”  
“A client?”  
  
“He can’t seem to remember this person’s name, but he certainly made quite a bit of money. Which just makes it worse!” Marjorie was fully aware of her own hypocrisy, but she flirted and fibbed for free milk and eggs with a good cause! She was the Princess’s lone servant and could not starve.”  
  
“Well, that settles it. You are taking me to Moonflower Market next time you go, or at the very least when Ezra goes to meet this client.” Philomene stood, with the help of her cane. “It’s too easy, don’t you see? Someone knows when you’re out, targets you and him with wolves and opens the window so the Toad can menace me with his hideous, smelly cats. Ezra goes to the Market on his first day and finds a ‘client’ who is inordinately interested in him figuring out those cookbooks, ones we know may be Hearth Magic spells. And if he can’t remember this person’s name, that is entirely too suspicious if you ask me. Someone must be onto us and is trying to outmaneuver us at every angle, without just outright killing us. But why? What good does demoralizing us do?”   
  
“Scare us into a sort of paralysis, maybe? Convince you to give up and marry that stupid frog? No,” Marjorie amended, “that’s too petty a goal for all this. You’re right, it is too convenient. Which means that the safest place for you to be is…with me.” She held her hand to her forehead. “Alright. I understand, Princess. I am your humble servant, as always. And this gives me a few days at least to fret over it in the meantime.”   
  
“Don’t fret! Help Ezra out with whatever he’s trying to do. Do not push the magic angle,”  
Philomene added with emphasis. “I want to see this client for myself first.”  
  
“You don’t think it’s the Green Witch herself?”  
  
“I doubt it, to be honest. But I just have a hunch about this.”  
  
“I’ll trust in your hunch, Princess,” Marjorie said. She wasn’t sure this time if she was telling the truth or not. “Just, promise you’ll stick by me. And don’t get lost. And…and stay away from birds…! And-ugh, how did an insect that big get in here?! I had the window closed!”  
  
The insect in question was a fat beetle with a violet shell, buzzing around right next to Marjorie at a leisurely pace. She was sure it hadn’t been there seconds ago, and it had a strange glow to it. It looked harmless enough, but she didn’t want anything possibly bothering Philomene or Melchior.   
“Wait!” Philomene held up her hand. “Hold on. I think I recognize those from my book! Just go ahead and touch it…”  
  
Marjorie was in absolutely no mood to go around poking unfamiliar beetles, but she obeyed the princess’s order. It was delicate and soft to the touch, like a soap bubble that didn’t break, and gave off a strong floral scent. It started to broadcast the voice of an old woman, deep and rich with age and tinged with concern.  
  
“I’m told you are friends of our Basil and Mr. Ezra Kettle. They’re both in poor condition, particularly the latter. I’d suggest you come see us right away. Follow the beetle, it will lead you to a safe path, but don’t get left far behind!”  
  
It started flying out towards the doorway at a much-quicker-than-leisurely pace, leaving Marjorie and Philomene only a few moments to exchange worried and confused glances before Marjorie carefully picked up the princess, deposited her in the front pocket of her dress and took off after the magic insect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, hope you're enjoying this so far! If you are, lemme know. I'm always happy to hear from people.  
> You can find more about the series at exileseverafter.tumblr.com.


	13. But One Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm going to start crossposting here again, what with the demise of Jukepop and all. Eventually I hope to get the whole thing up here, though that may take a little while. Stay tuned in the meantime.

When he wore the hood and gloves, nobody recognized him. He could sit in the middle of the Moonflower Market under the glow of flowers and stars, plucking the strings of the harp, sing and play whatever song he pleased for a crowd that largely ignored him. Maybe they would drop a coin at his feet, for unlike the other musicians he had no tin or hat at his feet. No one would point and shout. Nobody grabbed his arm, demanded a chance to buy him a drink, rallied around him to hear him tell the happier version of the truth one more time.

Nobody called him that dreadful name ‘Giant-Killer.’

His mother had been right. All he’d had to do to escape it all was find someplace far from the bustle of the city where they’d moved after their change of fortune. There was no need to tell her where he’d gone that evening; let her think he was at the tavern after all. It was not a lie. Had it not been a sympathetic old woman at the tavern who had showed him where to go to reach this so-called fairy market?

It was a good harp, and when he played it he could almost forget the circumstances that led him to claim it. Large enough that he had to sit in order to play it, the harp never went out of tune. His mother had an old instrument in their little home, one she couldn’t bear to part with. He’d always have a fondness for that, but it was so much more satisfying to play this masterwork of an instrument with its carved wing motif and gold finish gleaming like sunlight.

When he’d played it in public to the crowds who’d heard his story or even seen the fallen beanstalk itself, he’d sung a triumphant hero’s ballad because that was what he assumed they’d demand. They wanted to hear about the underdog’s triumph over one of the haughty, fearsome sky giants. He’d done it over and over since then, sometimes with shaking hands and weary eyes, and no one had noticed the difference.

On this night Jack played a gentle, slow song, a lament. 

“If I could find the mermaid’s jewels ‘neath the Tempest Sea  
It wouldn’t mean a single thing if Pearl is lost to me.”

He paused in his song; for a second he thought he saw a familiar face in the crowd. But it couldn’t have been her. What would that old woman be doing here?

Having so assured himself, he continued his litany to lost Pearl. It was easy to lose himself in the music, so easy that he almost jumped when the man tapped him on the shoulder.

“That’s a lovely tune,” the figure commented. He was tall, thin and hunched over, with a reddish complexion mostly hidden by a black mask and a wide-brimmed hat. “I do adore tales of lost love.”

Jack was taken aback, letting his hand drop to his waist at the sight of the strange man. “Thank you, sir.” Then the man’s words echoed more clearly in Jack’s mind, and he blushed. “Oh, no! Pearl isn’t a lost love, not like that.” 

“She isn’t?” The man chuckled. “So is it true pearls you long for, then? You could find them here for the right price, cultivated in the islands by oyster-farming Flower Folk. Nothing in the world like them.” 

More treasures. Jack was supposed to want treasure, wasn’t he? That’s what normal boys longed for, especially those who had known starvation not so long ago. He shook his head. “No. You promise not to laugh?” Why he was willing to confide in this man, he couldn’t say, except perhaps that he was the first person to really listen to Jack since his triumphant return from the nightmarish Sky. 

“I have the greatest respect for loss and longing. I shan’t laugh if Pearl is a white worm.” The man waited patiently.

“A white cow, actually.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, a weak smile on his face. “She had a perfect black circle right on her forehead. She no longer made milk and we couldn’t afford to feed her, so I had to sell her recently.” There was no need to explain the rest. “I’m sure she’s been sent to slaughter by now. Poor old thing.” 

Behind his mask, the man’s expression was impossible to read. He tapped his chin with one long, bony finger. “A cow, then?” But as promised, he didn’t laugh.

Jack looked back up at the sea of stars above them. “You must think me very strange. Anyone else would if I told them. I have more food than I can possibly eat now, money, fame. My parents will never starve again. I got a marriage offer from a princess the other day.” He had turned it down, worried that anyone who would marry him for his reputation as a quick-witted thief or brave warrior would be an unpleasant person at heart. “But when I had none of that, I had Pearl. She listened to me. She wasn’t an Enlightened Animal, but…well, she was different.”

The man was silent for what seemed like a long time. Jack waited for him to say something nice and dismissive before moving along. It wouldn’t be the first time Jack Nimble was taken for a sentimental fool.

But the man stayed, shaking his head. “I’d say you’re far wiser than a boy your age who would just be satisfied with fame and fortune. You seek. You desire. There is nothing more worthwhile than that which is sought out, no dish more delicious than one hungered for.”

Jack blinked and stared, scratching his head. “Pardon? Pearl is no dish!”

“Ah, excuse me. I did not mean to get so poetic.” The man chuckled, a laugh that reminded Jack of a crow’s cackle. “What I am saying is, if Pearl is more precious to you than the mermaids’ jewels and the nectar of the Blossom of Immortality-which does not exist, might I add, but I always thought it a lovely fantasy anyway-then you are fully justified in wanting her back. Why should you not seek out a lost friend? You, pure of heart and innocent?”

At the word ‘innocent,’ Jack had to repress a shudder. The thundering, wine-addled voice of an enraged Hamilton Tooth echoed in his mind. ‘Thief! Greedy monster! I’ll bake you into a pie and tell my customers it’s goose meat! Give me back my harp…!’

No, Jack told himself. He’d acted in self-defense, and if kindly Ezra was to be believed, against a wicked man. 

“Never thought of it that way,” Jack confessed. He ran an idle hand down the wooden edge of the harp, its smooth gold finish sporting nary a single chip or dent. He still wasn’t sure what the strange man meant, but there was something comforting about it anyway. 

“You can call me The Gourmet, by the way. Not the name my mother gave me, but such things are personal and not usually shared in public around my people.” The Gourmet offered a handshake, and Jack realized he was much stronger than his age would suggest. 

“Jack Nimble. Ma said a ‘gourmet’ is someone who likes eating a lot. But you look kind of skinny.” Mrs. Nimble had done her best to educate Jack and teach him words he was sure he would never use, as if someday she might regain her position at court and wanted to assure her backwoods-raised son wouldn’t embarrass her.

The Gourmet, rather than taking offense, simply crow-laughed again. “You might be thinking of the word ‘gourmand,’ which is similar and yet oh so different. A gourmand is fond of eating well and consumption to excess. A gourmet is discerning. It means I seek out the greatest among the good. I think of myself as a cultivator of talents and creation. Speaking of. Your harp-playing is quite impressive for a youngster.”

It was the first time anyone had complimented his actual musical skills for as long as he could remember. “I used to play when I was younger. Past few years I haven’t had time, what with helping Pa keep the farm going. But it just came back to me. I didn’t write the song, though.” Jack felt it best to be honest in the face of praise. “It’s just an old folksong from my hometown. The lady in question is usually named Jill, or Will if you wanna sing about a guy.”

“Songwriters are songwriters. You are a musician. I know it, and I would hate to see that kind of talent wasted here among the chaos of the Moonflower Market. With enough practice, you could play at court.”

Jack sighed. Of course it would all come back to court, wouldn’t it? “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve already had to hobnob with those sorts more than I’d like, and let’s just say none of them would give me a second glance before. I don’t want to impress them.”

“Good! That’s what I wanted to hear. You are destined for better things. And this instrument.” The Gourmet tapped the harp, plucking one of the strings for a perfect C note. “It would be wasted on the stuffed shirts and self-absorbed minds of the nobility. It’s been too long since I’ve seen one of this sort. Did you know these kinds sometimes have a mechanism that lets them play on their own? Though not everyone knows how to activate it…”

Immediately Jack set his own hands back on the harp. He couldn’t bear to hear that song again. “I prefer to play it myself.”

“…Of course. As I would expect of an artist.” The Gourmet was still looking more at the harp than at Jack. He mercifully didn’t ask Jack how the boy had managed to come across such an instrument. “Jack, let me make you an offer. I am sort of a ‘bigwig’ here, if you want to use that kind of term. I hold a dinner party now and then with similar friends who appreciate the rarest of talents and give them their dues.”

“I-I don’t really want attention…”

“But you want to play. I can tell. You play to put your heart at ease. Why else would you sing laments?” The Gourmet clasped his hands in front of him. “You can have complete anonymity, and after that, I will reward you with anything you desire from the market. Treasures you could not buy with all the gold in the Ever After Empire. Tickets to a journey to the other side of the world on a luxurious boat. Why, come to think of it, I know of a witch who is said to be able to find anyone, alive or dead. Even bring their souls back from the afterlife, for the right price.”

Everything the Gourmet offered struck Jack as more excess, as ill-fitting to him as the rapidly-spreading tales of his ‘heroism’ had been. He would have been content with enough food, clothing and shelter. The fine foods and servants bought with the treasures he’d brought back from the Sky made his parents happy, but he’d felt increasingly like a stranger in his own home. He wouldn’t know what to do on the other side of the world. 

But then the Gourmet mentioned that witch.

“Anyone? Anyone at all?”

“Even a cow, perhaps. For a song! A single song. Not such a terrible price to pay, is it? But I like to reward those who make my dinner parties exceptional. I might have a baker in mind already for the dessert, and now I need entertainment.” The Gourmet reached into that big coat of his and produced a roll of papers, wrinkled with a broken wax seal. “Here’s the song. Practice when you can, and memorize it well. If you think you can do it, come back and speak with me; those who seek me here tend to find me without difficulty.”

Before Jack could answer, the Gourmet pointed a finger at the boy’s chest. “Cultivate that sorrow,” the Gourmet continued. “It will keep you grounded. Happiness leaves you idle, but sorrow, loneliness,  _hunger_ …those keep you alive. Those will bring you what you most desire. If your song can draw tears from me, I shall grant your heart’s desire.”

It felt so backwards, to hear someone tell Jack it was not only okay to be unhappy in his situation, but proper and healthy. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He half-expected it to be a dream, one that would break when he woke up in his new, too-soft bed. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure what he felt was really longing or hunger at all. There was something else weighing on his heart, something he could not yet name.

But he did owe it to Pearl to try to save her, didn’t he? Surely cows had souls as well.

“And if I don’t manage to make you cry, sir?” 

The Gourmet set a hand on Jack’s shoulder again. “Then you have a free nice dinner and some good memories! It’s all good fun with my parties.”

“Do you own this place?”

“Me? Not at all. I just know the owner.” The Gourmet stood back up, digging his hands in his pockets. “Well, I have to go find a decorator and a florist. My party is a month from now, on the Spring Equinox. Let me know, Mr. Nimble, let me know.” He turned back into the crowd and blended in immediately, as if he’d genuinely disappeared.

Jack was left staring at his ill-begotten harp, idly plucking a string as he looked at the sheet music. He couldn’t imagine using it for more than a mere distraction at the moment. The Gourmet was too strange, and making promises that were too far-fetched even for this odd fairy market. Still, he found he slipped right back into singing his lament, and the sad song felt right. He’d keep playing, and worry about the rest in the morning.  


* * *

  
“So. Does the boy still have the harp?”

The Gourmet sat down at his oakwood desk and ordered his pale, wrinkled servant to bring him a fresh cup of orange-scented tea before he bothered to reply to the voice speaking through the glowing glass mushroom sitting on a table nearby. He liked antagonizing her. “Of course he does. You think an idiot human child has enough willpower to give it up?”

“I was starting to think he might have sold it,” the mushroom said. “He was desperate when he gave me that hideous old cow. So I take it the harp’s still idle?”

“I’ll be honest. If the greed of a miserly giant couldn’t wake it up, I’m not entirely sure the sorrow of a heartbroken boy can. But we try what we must, right? Every little bit helps.” The Gourmet found it useful to understate how effective he imagined his plans to be; he knew the others overlooked him as a spoiled dilettante, and all the better for him. 

“We don’t have time for ‘every little bit.’” The round mirror on his desk flashed angrily, the eye within staring unblinking at the Gourmet. “If he doesn’t awaken the harp, I say you eat the boy and hand the harp over to me. I’ve seen plenty of more suitable candidates.”

The flower suspended in an orb of glass didn’t say a thing. He liked that about her. Unlike The Mirror, the Green Witch seemed to know the value of silence.

The Gourmet turned back to The Mirror and the glass mushroom. “You both worry about your own plans and I’ll keep an eye on the harp. Remember, we all work best together. As a system.”

The Mirror narrowed its eye before halting its transmission, its glass turning black once more. The mushroom stayed alight. 

“Good news is, I’ve found where the Flower princess and Mirror’s test subject are living,” the old woman’s voice on the other end said. “They should be able to generate enough fear to sustain me, at least until things start falling into place in the Sky. You know how it is.”

Her plans always had been too complicated and ambitious, the Gourmet thought. He preferred the slow game. “Just don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“I’m not a glutton like you. Speaking of.” The mushroom flickered. “Have you eaten that cow yet? I don’t get what you wanted out of her. She was too old to be a proper test subject; I can’t imagine she’d taste very good.”

“I’m saving her for a very special occasion.” The Gourmet grinned, running his tongue over his pointed teeth. “My dear, you simply do not understand. There is no dish more delicious than one another hungers for.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think if you've been reading thus far!


	14. Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Basil woke up with a jolt underneath his quilt, feeling around with his hands until his vision cleared. He was in bed, covered in dry wool pajamas with a strange weight upon his back. When he extracted himself from the bed, standing unsteadily, he looked behind him and realized he’d been under four quilts altogether.  
  
The little bedroom was warmer than usual, so thick with Grandma Lavender’s magic that motes of it floated in the air. They looked like embers but wouldn’t catch fire if they ran into the curtains. There was a change of clothes next to his bed.   
  
He’d had an episode, hadn’t he? He could remember brief shots of being rushed into the cottage, the voices of two elderly fairy godmothers fretting briefly, though his thoughts felt jumbled and fuzzy. Hadn’t he been speaking with Ezra? They were having a discussion about fish of all things, and then…  
  
And then the river.  
  
Blood rushing to his face and heart pounding, Basil slowly opened the heavy wooden door a creak. His feet sank into the fur rug that lined his room. “…Grandmother Lavender?”  
  
It wasn’t Lavender sitting in the parlor waiting for him, but Violet. She was a stout, stately fairy even in her current elderly state, her white hair pinned atop her head and her fingers adorned with turquoise rings that stood out against her wrinkled, purple skin. One of her scarab beetles was out, sitting on her shoulder. It made a clicking sound and Violet turned to her adopted grandson, setting aside her calligraphy and smiling.  
  
“You gave us quite a scare. Lavender worried if she heated the room much more it would melt the candles. But you’ve got a strong heart. Or a stubborn one.” She pursed her mouth into a thin line. “What were you doing, joyriding around like that and getting yourself soaked?”  
  
Shame made it harder for Basil to meet Lavender’s gaze. “Forgive me, Grandmother. I was a bit excited after hearing about Princess Philomene’s situation. You know, a quest and all…”  
  
“A quest. Yes.” Violet tapped the back of the gold scarab beetle, and it clicked in happiness. Her expression revealed neither understanding nor disapproval, which somehow made it worse.  
  
“I have no excuses,” he added. “Though I didn’t think the river water would affect me so drastically, even now. You don’t think it’s getting worse…?”  
  
“You’ve just become better at managing it over time. Sometimes relapses will happen. You’re not alone and have people who will care for you when they do, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”  
  
“They’ll happen until I break the curse.” Basil stepped into the parlor and sat down gingerly at the table. The room smelled of herbs, though the only one Basil could recognize was mint.  
  
“Break the curse, yes.” Violet went back to her calligraphy; she was writing in the Fae Text, and he only knew a few words of that language. It looked like flowing leaves sprouting from a branch, with the shapes and layout indicating letters and punctuation. “You know, some curses are meant to be broken by others.”  
  
“I couldn’t just wait around for that! I already depend on you and Grandmother Lavender to-well, to stay alive in the winter. I depend on Aurora to keep me warm when the cold does get too overwhelming. I depend on Father’s wealth to buy furs and cloaks to wear year-round. I can’t even begin to think how I’ll pay that all back!” Basil ran his hands through his hair, which hung loose over his shoulders. “The least I can do is break my own curse.”  
  
Violet shook her head. “Humans are very strange. Is it weakness to depend on others? You feed the chickens and milk the cow so we can have eggs and milk for pudding. You brush the burrs from Aurora’s fur and sing to her during your patrols. A system of support is not all one-sided. Speaking of, your friend is here. The big one.”  
  
“Ezra?” Basil blinked and thought back to the river, which he was starting to remember a bit more clearly. “He carried me. There were wolves…”  
  
His eyes widened and he stood so quickly he gave himself a few more seconds of wooziness. “Where is he? Is he hurt? Did I-oh god, I didn’t say anything to him, did I? Did I say anything to you when I was like that?!”  
  
“He’s outside, under the barrier. Lavender is tending to him and has invited your other friends to see him. He’s had better days, but is not as bad off as we worried. Giants, it seems, are a hardy lot.” Violet sipped from a cup of tea decorated with butterfly wings, apparently unconcerned. “You said a few rash things to us as we were carrying you in to get you dried off, but nothing worse than what I’ve heard some human children say when they were in their right minds.”  
  
Basil shuddered. He knew how he got when the chill was close enough to his heart, and didn’t want any of his new friends to see it. Ever. “Why didn’t you tell me right away he’s out there?!”  
“Because you would rush out when it isn’t urgent, in your pajamas, when you were still recovering. Get dressed properly to meet company and I’ll start making some pudding.”   
  
If Violet came across as maddeningly aloof over the situation, Basil had to remind himself that she was a fairy and they didn’t quite understand human emotions in the same way. That was, at least, what he told himself when their actions didn’t make any sense to him. He ran back into the room, grabbing for the clean set of clothing and cloak.

* * *

The fairy godmothers maintained a sort of magical bubble around the cottage that extended to the length of the clearing, encompassing the garden, the small chicken coop, the little barn where the shaggy mountain cow slept at night and Aurora’s stable. The bubble was invisible to the eye and served two purposes. One, it kept the magic Lavender used to keep the area warm and dry contained, letting her block out the rain or let it fall as need went. Thus when Basil stepped outside he could see rain running against the surface of the bubble without a single drop falling on him.  
  
The other purpose had to do with concealing the presence of two fairies, and Lavender and Violet would tell Basil nothing else on the topic.   
  
Ezra was sitting on the grass next to the vegetable garden, looking more stunned than pained despite the heavy bandage wrapped around his leg below the knee. Basil saw it and immediately felt another wave of guilt as he ran over, waving.   
  
“Ezra! Ezra, sir, are you alright? I’m sorry, this is really my fault that you were hurt and I never intended that to be the case. It’s a perfect reversal of things! Should be that I protect you, seeing as I am…and you are…I mean.” Basil shook his head and decided to start again. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Ezra blinked down at Basil, eyes shining and a little unfocused. “Prince! I’m fine, really. I thought for sure it was broken but apparently it’s just a nasty flesh wound.” He was speaking more slowly and deliberately than usual, as if he had to concentrate to form the right words. “Your, um, grandmothers helped me dry off and bandaged the wound. One of them gave me something to drink to dull the pain. It’s very effective.”  
  
“Ohhh. I see…” That, Basil thought, would explain the medicinal smell indoors. He decided it was best not to mention that, in line with Grandmother Violet’s insect-oriented magic, her potent painkiller concoction was derived from a kind of bug venom.   
  
Lavender came out from behind Ezra, dwarfed by the young chef even when he was sitting down. She was smaller than Violet and appeared older, with light purple skin spotted with age and thin hair worn today in a bonnet. “There you are. My quilts did just the trick, didn’t they?”  
  
“Your quilts and your magic,” Basil said in a low voice. But he made himself smile anyway and give Lavender a hug. “Thank you for taking care of Ezra. After all, it is my fault that…”  
  
“No, it’s not your fault!” Ezra shook his head, pulling his good knee up to lean against it. “It was…the wolves. The wolves attacked me. But they wanted you.”   
  
“That makes it even more my fault!” Basil realized arguing this point was irrational; Ezra wasn’t going to get mad at him no matter what. He just wasn’t the sort. Basil would have to pledge to make amends privately. “If the wolves attacked you because they were after me, then that means…wait, after me?”  
  
Ezra nodded dreamily. “The…big one. She wanted to eat you. She said something about a-a mushroom hag…?”  
  
Lavender frowned, turning to look up at Ezra. “A mushroom hag? Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes. No.” Ezra rubbed his eyes. “I’m a little confused right now.”  
  
Lavender clicked her tongue and whispered to Basil. “We gave him something a little stronger than he needed, but he was worrying himself sick about you and stress wasn’t going to help him get better. I’m going back inside to check on Violet’s pudding and make sure she’s not using all the sugar.”   
  
As Lavender trudged back into the cottage, Basil looked back up at Ezra. He didn’t seem so mighty and intimidating; when he was sitting down, Basil could put a hand on his shoulder. He considered it for a moment but thought it might be improper. Instead, Basil sat on a well-worn tree stump and tried to think of something to say. Ezra didn’t seem up to talking much.  
  
Presently he heard a very soft, high-pitched voice talking very quickly to a familiar, smoother-sounding female voice as steps crunched through the grass. Basil spun around to see Marjorie, soaking wet and shivering even as she stepped through the barrier and out of the rain. She’d apparently been shielding Philomene with her hands, as the little princess looked less worse for wear.  
  
“…A containment barrier. Do you know how difficult those are to execute and how much power they take to maintain? I cannot believe I get to see one with my own eyes! Why didn’t Basil tell us he lived with real fairies?! Oh, Basil!” Philomene paused to wave at them, though it was hard to see from a distance of more than a few feet away. “I’m glad to see you’re alright!”  
  
“Yes! Quite alright for someone we went all the way through the woods to see, braving a spring downpour and me without having a solid plan for transporting Her Highness in the rain.” Marjorie rolled her eyes, her free hand on her hip, but she smiled immediately after. “Oh, I don’t mean that! I’m glad you’re doing better, Basil darling. Although Ezra, dear, what happened?!”  
  
Basil related the story of the river and the wolves, carefully omitting what he and Ezra had been talking about aside from the nature of fishing. A Charming Prince did not break trust.   
  
Ezra was blushing when he finished it. “I-I didn’t exactly fell seven wolves with one blow. There was just the big one, and if Aurora hadn’t been there…”  
  
“I may have embellished it a little.” Basil coughed into his fist. “But heroism cannot be exaggerated!”   
  
“Seven or one, it is still rather extraordinary.” Marjorie smirked, draped in a shawl Violet had lent her while Basil was telling his story. “I told you that you were stronger than you thought! Although I do have a few questions about the whole thing…” She turned to face Basil.  
  
He took a deep breath. Sooner or later he would have to be upfront about his secret, for a Prince Charming was not meant to deceive. Nobility-the virtue, at least-could stem only from truth.  
   
“Pardon me for asking,” Philomene chimed in before he could speak. “Are you cursed?”  
  
Basil felt himself deflate a bit, staring down at the Flower princess. “How-how did you know? Can everyone tell?!”  
  
“Well, you do seem to shiver a lot when it’s not very cold out,” Ezra pointed out.  
  
“And you are very fond of heavy coats and gloves, which seem more like a liability in a sword fight,” Marjorie said.  
  
“White bears aren’t common mounts down here,” Philomene said, looking up at Marjorie after speaking. “Wait, are they? I can never keep track of which humans ride which animals when. Bear, horse, camel, it all seems just as dangerous to me…!”  
  
Basil crossed his arms, taking what he knew was silly offense at the fact that he apparently had no secret to reveal. “My mother was born a princess of the Northern Expanse lands, where they’ve had trained and tamed polar bears for centuries. Aurora was a gift from my aunt. Actually, that ties into the entire problem. When my paternal grandparents accepted an arrangement between my father, Crown Prince of Sethwhile, and my mother, it was seen as an insult against the Empire of the Fire Opal to the south. Apparently they wanted him to marry a member of their royal family, which they could use to get a hold up in the North. Something about security against the Ever After Empire and oh, I can never keep up with politics. This caused a feud that just got worse and worse, all while Sethwhile started establishing ties with the Ever After Empire.”   
  
He pulled his cloak up around him as he continued. “Things deteriorated until representatives from Fire Opal were denied invitations to my mountain-blessing and naming ceremony, which in retrospect was a rather foolish move probably made under pressure from Ever After delegates. They summoned a fairy to curse me, though why he cooperated we’ll never know. That fairy returned to the Fae Plane where most fairies reside before anyone could catch him. I suspect Lavender and Violet came to help my family so relations with the Fae Plane wouldn’t deteriorate further. That’s what I assume, anyway; when I ask they just tell me not to worry about it.” Basil sighed. “The short of it is, I get cold very easily. It comes from inside me. It’s never too hot for me and always too frigid, no matter how many hot water baths I take or layers I wear. It gets far worse sometimes as the cold starts to reach my heart and freeze my compassion. If my heart ever froze completely I would live, but I would be without compassion and kindness.”   
  
“Cold-hearted,” Ezra said quietly.  
  
“Yes, exactly. I would probably be more comfortable living in Fire Opal, it being a desert and all, which was probably their plan all along. But my parents wouldn’t let that nation steal their son away all because of a silly curse.” Basil couldn’t resist a grin. “That’s my mother and father! Nobody pushes around the mountain folk just because we’re not part of some overreaching empire. Though the Blue Forest here was the safest place I could stay that would still allow me to visit my family sometimes. The flowers keep my grandmothers refreshed, apparently, so they have enough power to stay in this world.”  
  
“Can’t they break your curse?” Ezra frowned.  
  
Philomene spoke up. “Unfortunately, curses don’t work like that. Curses must be broken in a specific way, and if the curse-caster doesn’t say what it is, all one can do is experiment and hope for the best. Our research suggests that no curse is unbreakable but the solution might be at the whims of the harmful magic itself.” She looked suddenly tired and distant.   
  
“I know how to break it, though! I’m sure of it.” Basil couldn’t stand others being depressed or saddened on his behalf. “When I do something heroic or brave, I feel a bit warmer. Inside here.” He indicated his own chest. “The first Prince Charming and those who follow in her footsteps have broken curses on the unfortunate before. I will become Prince Charming, not just a mere prince, and break my own curse! And besides that, I still intend to help you retake your kingdom, Princess. Somehow.”  
  
Philomene smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Basil. And I’ll try to look into your curse with my research. If nothing else, we might be able to improve your quality of life.”  
  
“I’ll be on the lookout for nice cloaks at the market,” Marjorie added.   
  
Ezra mumbled something behind them, and all three turned to look at him.  
  
“I said, I want to help.” Ezra raised his head, looking a bit drained and uncomfortable. Perhaps the medication was starting to wear off. “With that magic the princess said I had. I don’t-I genuinely don’t believe there’s any real magic in those recipes. And if it does…” He shook his head. “Either way, I want to help you all. You all deserve better than this.”  
  
“I don’t think misfortune is something anyone really earns one way or another. Oh, but Basil, that is wonderful!” Marjorie stood up, beaming. “I would hug you if I didn’t have the princess in my hand.”  
  
“I would hug all of you,” Philomene added, “if you were smaller! Marjorie and I never expected to find help like this.”  
  
“What, from a cursed prince?” Basil asked, unable to hide a smile.   
  
“And a baker?” Ezra added, puzzled.  
  
“From Prince Charming and a kindly living mountain.” This time it was Philomene who made Ezra blush. “I meant that as a compliment, really! But you two should really rest up in the meantime. You won’t be able to do much if you’re unwell.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Ezra said. “Very much so. In fact, I should-oh, wait. I can’t rest right now! I have to come up with something to make for the Market. I have to start figuring out those recipes! For that Hearth magic stuff. One of the fairies said she was making pudding. Pudding, pudding, there were puddings in that book…” He tried to rise, winced and sat right back down.  
  
“No, no, no,” Lavender said from behind them, stepping back outside again. “You stay off that leg for at least a day, young man. You shouldn’t be making the journey back to that giant cabin, especially not when it’s raining. The rest of you, please stay for supper! I do make a fantastic turnip stew.”  
  
“But, I…” Perhaps still too foggy to raise a proper coherent protest, Ezra looked helplessly down at Basil, who shook his head.  
  
“Sorry, but as a dutiful grandson I have to agree with Grandmother Lavender. Just relax and we’ll find a place for you to stay the night here.” Basil looked to Ezra, then to the far-too-small door of the cottage.   
  
“Well, somewhere.” 


	15. Bad Apple

As Lavender and Violet were both fairies, Marjorie couldn’t help but wonder if they intentionally timed dinner to end when the rain let up. She didn’t know enough about fairies to say for sure. Whether they did or not, she was quite thankful to be able to walk back through the woods without worrying about Her Highness being drenched, save from the occasional water dripping from soaked branches. The forest floor was muddy and squelched under her feet, but Marjorie had never expected her job to be glamorous. 

The sun was just beginning to set, its orange light peeking through the trees. Marjorie had long ago learned how to memorize her path even when running in a panic, a survival tactic. As a result she had little trouble retracing her steps back towards the much larger cottage she and Philomene called home. 

“You know,” Philomene said from her holding place in Marjorie’s front pocket, “Prince Basil is under a curse too.” 

Marjorie knew immediately what Philomene was getting at and ran through her head every possible way she could avoid the subject.

“And,” the princess continued in a terrible attempt to sound casual, “he found acceptance with us. Because it isn’t something he can help. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help!”

“He’s convinced himself he can fix it on his own.” And, Marjorie added silently, he had helpful and supportive blood relatives who would never have inflicted that curse themselves. “If that’s the lie he has to tell himself to keep going I certainly won’t correct him! I ought to know the value of a good lie when the truth is ugly.”

That was a bit more bitter than Marjorie intended to come across to Philomene. While she couldn’t see Philomene’s expression, the princess was quiet and a little less confident when she did speak again. 

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to talk about it. You seemed a little quiet at dinner…”

Marjorie could have sworn she’d concealed that with the skill of a professional. Leave it to Philomene to see through her. “I’m just not used to dealing with that many people at once. Those fairy godmothers are regular chatterboxes to match their non-fairy godson.” 

“You can talk to me about it. You’re my patient.” 

Marjorie kicked aside a puffball mushroom that had sprouted in the wake of the rain. “I’m your servant, Princess! Your bodyguard. Your…jester, even if I haven’t had much of an opportunity to perform that role lately. If you order me to talk to you about the problem I will, but…!”

“Fine!” Philomene rarely used that forceful voice, but when she did it made Marjorie stand up straight and still. “If that’s how it’s going to be, I order you to tell me what’s bothering you, and why you won’t tell anyone else about your curse when it seems to be more manageable than Basil.”

An order was an order. 

“I’m jealous.” Marjorie chuckled bitterly. “Is that not ridiculous? I’m envious of a cursed prince because he knows exactly what’s happening to him. He knows what he has to deal with. Moreover, he cannot look back and say ‘well, I suppose I could have averted this whole thing if I’d just had the guts to stand up for myself.’”

She shook her head, rubbing tears out of her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I’m not angry at you. You’ve never shown me anything but kindness, even now.”

There was another pause from Philomene before she spoke again, softer this time. “I’m sorry too. I should not have ordered you.”

“No, no. I feel better already having said it aloud.” Marjorie wasn’t sure she did, but she liked to imagine a decent person would.

“Marjorie, you couldn’t have averted your curse. You were a child! You did what your parents told you.” 

“I know.” Marjorie cast her eyes back down to the pathway. “Objectively I know that. My mind just tells me things sometimes, and well I just can’t tell if they’re true or not. I hear them both in my head, alternately mocking me for going along with their experiments or calling me a wicked child for running away. Especially since…”

She trailed off and held up a hand in front of Philomene to signal her to duck down into the pocket. There was a hooded figure crossing their path about fifteen feet away, carrying a hanging lantern in front of her with a sputtering, flickering flame. The figure was hunched over, their face obscured and their hands covered in ragged gloves. 

Marjorie told herself not to panic, but to stay on guard. This could be a traveler looking for the Moonflower Gate. They could also be someone or something else entirely. She planned to avoid contact with the old figure altogether, just walking down the makeshift path and pretending not to see the intruder.

“Good evening, young lady!”

Well, so much for that.

Marjorie turned around and flashed her most personable smile, clasping her hands behind her back. “Evening, madam!” The voice at least suggested an old woman. “Glad the rain cleared up, hmm?”

“Yes. I do love the time after the rain. All the worms come out of the soil and the mushrooms come out.” The hooded figure turned around and pulled her head back, revealing a milky-white face with tiny eyes and a thin line of a mouth. She was carrying a basket full of green lichens. “I make a lovely bitter tonic with these.”

Marjorie took a glance into the basket. None of those lichens looked like the kind that she’d ever seen growing in the Blue Forest.

“That is lovely. You should try selling it someday! But if you don’t mind, I have to be on my way…”

The old woman smiled, smelling of garlic and peat moss. “Of course! Could you please just point me in the way of the Moonflower Gate?” Her skin almost looked transparent, like the thick membrane inside of an egg, but perhaps that was a trick of the light.

“Aha, well! I don’t usually walk from here, but you’re going to want to keep going north generally. That’s what I do!” It was at least a partial truth. The Moonflower Market was open to all sorts; let this creepy old bat go there and leave her and her princess alone. “If you know how to navigate. Just keep an eye on the blue flowers, they tend to be more visible at night…”

“What a good dear! What a good, honest girl.” The old woman patted Marjorie on the wrist, her skin cold and clammy through the tears in her gloves. “I’m going to make my fortune there. It’ll be so nice!”

“Yes! I do wish you luck, Madam.” Marjorie extracted her arm as gracefully as she could and ducked back. “And now, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, but let me reward you for your kindness! I know just the thing a young woman needs.” The woman began to dig into her basket of lichens; Marjorie spotted a few unfamiliar-looking mushrooms mixed in. “It’s good for ailments of the blood.”

Marjorie stiffened, chuckling casually. “Ailments of the blood, madam?” Was her curse starting to become visible? Was it that obvious? Philomene had said she was beginning to look a touch anemic of late.

“You know. The moon cycle troubles. And it makes the skin so very smooth. You’ll positively bloom if you grind it down for a salve. Yes, yes! Here we go!” 

The basket looked shallow, yet somehow the woman was able to submerge her whole hand in and pull out a good-sized roundish fruit. Its skin was the gray of clouds heavy with rain, its short stem black as coal.   
A Silver Apple. 

_“It’s just a fruit. You eat apples all the time. Why are you making that face? Don’t you trust me? I only want to help you. You want to grow up strong and healthy, don’t you? You want to do me and your father proud. Yes, this is what you want. Go on, give it a try.”_

Marjorie didn’t remember saying anything in acceptance or protest over the old memories echoing through her head as she stared at the weighty, smooth fruit, wondering when the old woman had pressed it into her hand. When she looked up from it the stranger was gone, not even her lamp light visible through the trees.

She took a deep breath. She could not panic, not now. “Philomene?” she whispered. “You’re there, right?”

“Yes.” The princess peeked out of the front pocket, her black braids woven with green ribbons standing out against Marjorie’s dress. “Was that a witch?”

“I don’t know! I’ve never encountered a witch-I mean I’ve only encountered one witch before and that was a different situation entirely! But she certainly seemed the part, didn’t she?” Marjorie laughed to try to break the tension, though really she wanted to scream or cry. 

“I don’t think she was the Green Witch. Not much green about her. Though the Green Witch certainly must know where we are too, since the Toad found us. Oh, this is-this is not something I was prepared for!” 

“That makes the two of us.” Marjorie held up the apple, staring right at it. 

“What…is that, Marjorie?”

“It’s a Silver Apple. Eating one really does extend the youth of the flesh, or so the lore goes. It’s what my parents were trying to grow when they cursed me. No, wait. They wanted to create something better than that. They were innovators, that lovely family of mine!” Marjorie took another slow breath. “If you swallow the seeds of a Silver Apple, you turn into a tree. Forcefully and painfully. I’ve only ever seen those weird masked merchants selling them, and you’re lucky to encounter them at Moonflower at all. It is fully possible this is just a coincidence and that woman was just trying to prey off of a young person’s vanity to start a new orchard. It’s also just as possible this was someone who knew exactly how I would react when handed this hideous thing and is cackling as I start to panic, putting you more at risk of kidnapping as stress makes me more careless.”

She rubbed her temples, leaning against a fir tree. “I-I can’t deal with this now, Princess! I have to keep you safe from the Toad, and the Green Witch, and now there’s wolves and my searches at the Market have been utterly fruitless and we’re wasting time here, aren’t we? Everyone’s just biding their time until they crush us like old fruit…!” 

“Marjorie! It’s okay! It’s alright.” Philomene gave Marjorie a gentle pat. “You’re not doing this alone. We’re not doing this alone! I refuse to let them win or believe they’ve defeated us. Every curse has a solution, remember? Even one placed on an entire city. Or on you.”

“You’re very brave.” Marjorie wiped away tears again, then held up the apple. “I should just throw this thing away, shouldn’t I? No good can come of leaving it in our house. Though if we drop it and an animal eats the seeds, it’s still going to turn into an apple tree and spread itself around the woods. I suppose we could take it home and burn it…”

Philomene hummed.

“You think we should burn it, right, Princess? It’s dangerous! Even if it’s not loaded with all sorts of wicked magic artificially applied by that creepy lady, it’s just an accident waiting to happen.”

“Yes, but.” Philomene hummed again. “Marjorie, why don’t we turn this around and make it work in our favor? If that lady with the mushrooms knows who you are and what’s happened to you, there’s not much we can do about it other than make sure you take your herbs and we monitor you closely.” 

“That is not encouraging, Highness!” 

“But if they’ve given us this Silver Apple as a means of demoralization and intimidation, they’ve made a huge mistake. They may have given us the key to reversing your curse! You said it was similar to swallowing a Silver Apple seed, right? We can’t reproduce exactly what happened to you, but if I can cut into that thing and study how it works, perhaps…”

Marjorie sighed, forcing herself to smile even though Philomene wouldn’t see it. “You’ve picked quite a time to embrace Thumbelinan practicality. I can tell you what I know about them. They take a long time to rot and stay fresh even after you slice one open, and apparently they taste…good? What I had was different. I don’t want to look at it, if it’s alright. And if you can’t get anything out of it…”

“We burn it in the hearth.” Philomene paused. “You’re really okay with this?”

Marjorie was not, but her desires did not come before the good of the kingdom. And it had occurred to her that whatever had been done to her might have been an act of Green Magic, meaning Philomene’s research on her curse-and this apple-might be another path to a solution. Ezra might have finally committed to trying, but there was no guarantee those recipes even were magical, and even if they were there was no guarantee they’d do any good. 

“Princess,” she asked. “Would it make you happy to have this around for your experiments…?”

There was another long pause from Marjorie’s pocket before the princess responded. “It would make me happy to help you. I’m not sure why that’s so hard for you to accept.”

“Because I’m…” No, Marjorie couldn’t talk about it. Not here. She swallowed down her words. “If it would please you, we’ll keep it. Safe and preferably out of my sight.”

“We’ll put a cheesecloth over it.” 

“There! Out of sight, out of mind.” If Marjorie could lie to herself about other things, she could pretend the apple wasn’t there. 

Both women fell silent for the rest of the journey back. Marjorie almost considered telling Philomene why, exactly, it was a bad idea to try and save her. But she had a feeling if she tried, all she’d manage was another lie. 

* * *

  
If the Toad had to spend one more second in that awful, itchy pocket, he was going to scream. He forced his head out, trying not to gag on the stench of rotting wood emanating from the old woman’s coat. “The princess was there! Why couldn’t I talk to her?!” 

“Because,” the woman rasped as she sat down on a low boulder, “she despises you, and if she saw I was harboring you nothing about this silly errand would pan out.” A long-fingered hand reached down to pluck him out of her robe and set him down a little too roughly for his tastes. He hated the feel of her skin; it was too spongy and soft to be flesh. 

“Remember, you can’t hurt me!” The Toad croaked and puffed out his throat sac, hoping the bluster would work. “I have the Green Witch’s blessing.”

Beady black eyes squinted down at him from her round, puffyface. “Honestly, to be saddled with a fool like you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she did it on purpose because she hates me so. But I am a loyal sister, so rest assured I won’t let anything in the woods eat you.”

The Toad loathed the smell of the Rot Witch, but he wasn’t exactly about to risk all of the Green Witch’s blessings by angering her intermediary. The Green Witch had spoken to him in a soft, gentle voice, with understanding eyes and a scent like pine needles. How a goddess like her could associate with the Rot Witch, the Toad could not imagine. 

But the Green Witch’s silence was deafening, and the Rot Witch had enchanted those cats for him the night before. He was Thumbelina’s destined king, and a wise and just king could tolerate smells and sneers.

The witch pulled her hand out of her basket. In her palm lay a perfectly clear blue sphere with the size and appearance of a glass marble, though lacking the shine. It had a little crack through the middle. “Candy,” she added with a shudder. “Horrid.”

A misty glow swelled from the blue candy drop, which flickered as an older male voice spoke through it. “You just haven’t developed a taste for it, Reaper. Did you give them the apple?”

“Yes, though I didn’t entirely expect her to take it. Mirror’s girl froze up when I put it in her hand, and I left before she could refuse it. I did my part of your plan, and I wash my hands of the rest of it.” The Rot Witch had one eye on the candy drop. The other traveled across the spongy flesh of her face to stare down at the Toad, though why she thought he would leave her side he couldn’t imagine. 

He had everything to gain by putting up with her grotesque presence, and he wasn’t about to risk losing the Green Witch’s blessings and favors 

“I don’t suppose,” the voice said through the candy drop, “that you could call off your wolves to keep the giant alive? He’s a rare specimen in more ways than one, and I have such plans for him.”

“I already promised them Sky meat. I doubt I could call them off.” There was a tone of mockery in the Rot Witch’s voice. “I mean I could kill them, but don’t you think a little friendly competition is a bit more fun?”

“You’re such a child. Here I am, trying to unite us all and get something done for once, and you’re intentionally undermining my plans.” The blue drop voice laughed. “Never change.”

“I like betting on a sure thing. Like death. But we’ll see how your plan goes. By the way,” the Rot Witch added, “what did you use to grow that apple?”

“Let’s just say my staff has an opening.” The blue candy drop flickered once more and fell dark. 

 

 


	16. Kitchen Experimentation I

Ezra had been able to walk home the following day, though he did so leaning on a makeshift wooden crutch with his leg tightly bound. Basil rode with Aurora as his escort to, in his own words, ‘protect you from any wolves who might not have learned their lesson.’ The prince had also brought along gifts of eggs, milk and cream strapped to Aurora’s back. It was touching, and Ezra secretly relished the feeling of being protected even if he felt awkward about it at the same time.   
  
He had spent most of his visit at Basil’s house sleeping, much to his own chagrin. The potent painkiller Violet had given him combined with the rather uncomfortable heat inside the ‘bubble’ surrounding the fairy cottage to knock him out for most of the day and night, and he was sure he wasn’t terribly lucid when he was awake. Violet had insisted he needed the rest, but it left him anxious to get back to work and embarrassed at having been such a dull house guest.   
  
“I really do need to thank you again for your hospitality,” he said to Ezra as he arrived back in his own home, relishing it as he stepped through a doorway that fit him. He winced as he did, the lighter painkiller he’d taken that morning having begun to wear off. “Your, um, grandmothers as well. I’d never met good fairies.” He’d never met any fairies at all. While fairy appearances on Sky Islands were not unheard of, fairies were rare enough anywhere that one could live one’s entire life without meeting one.  
  
“Please, please! Allow me!” Basil pulled the kitchen chair out for him. The chair was easily bigger than Basil himself and he struggled to budge it, but Ezra patiently waited and then sat down so as not to appear ungrateful. Once Ezra was settled, Basil climbed into one of the chairs himself and leaned against the table. “You’re absolutely sure you aren’t angry?”  
  
Ezra felt himself blush. “Why would I be angry? We had our differences at the market, but since then you’ve been nothing but kind to me. Charming, even.” The word had slipped out. “No one has ever escorted me before, or saved me from wolves, or pulled the chair out for me. But you don’t need to dote over me out of guilt…”  
  
Basil shifted in his too-big seat. His eyes had gone momentarily wide at the word ‘Charming,’ and Ezra worried he’d used the term incorrectly. “It’s just that I do not like it when other people suffer on my behalf. That’s all. And I told you I feel warmer when I’m helping someone, right? You’re not a maiden in a tower, but you do need help right now.”   
  
“It seems we all do. Maybe it’s for the best we all found one another, then. I’m certainly glad you found me! Us,” Ezra added quickly, biting his lip briefly to keep himself from saying anything else potentially embarrassing to the prince. “You found us. A-anyway! I should-I should get back to work. I don’t remember too much of what I said under Violet’s concoction, but I am sure I agreed to try poking at any magic that might be in those recipes. And by now I’ve less than a week before I meet up with my client again…!”  
  
Basil hummed disapprovingly in the same manner Ezra had seen Lavender and Violet do. “That’s not getting rest, Ezra.”   
  
“It’s not strenuous! Honestly, I’ve worked in far worse condition before. Pounding headaches that affected my vision, a tooth affliction that got so bad they had to remove two molars by the time my master let me see the physician…”  
  
That earned a horrified stare from Basil. “What sort of ‘master’ did you work for?”  
  
“Not the kind anyone ought to have,” Ezra admitted with a sigh. “But I think that’s part of why I want to be useful to you all. I know you aren’t going to exploit or mistreat me. And besides, when I’m cooking…well, I suppose it’s like you and saving maidens in towers. Or giants in forests.” He glanced down at Basil and rubbed his neck as he limped over to the counter where the oldest of the family cookbooks sat, gently brushing a spider off of the cover.   
  
“Well, knowing you apparently don’t know how to take a day off doesn’t exactly put me at ease. But I’d be a hypocrite if I stopped you, considering how much I hate even standing still. I will, however, absolutely insist on helping.” Basil was suddenly at Ezra’s side, straining to get a look at the cookbook. The counter, after all, had not been built with humans in mind.   
  
Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Do you cook?”  
  
“Mm, well…I have seen it done! I know how to make tea and clean a fish. I can churn butter with the best of them. And you’ll need someone to measure out ingredients, won’t you?”  
  
Secretly, Ezra was over the moon at the thought of being able to cook alongside Basil. But some part of him locked up when he tried to figure out how to express such a thing. Instead he just nodded silently and moved to open the book.  
  
“Oh,” Basil asked, “what is that on the book?” He reached up to trace his finger along the faded impression on the leather cover. “It looks like a phoenix holding an egg.”  
  
Ezra stared for a second and then reminded himself that most human nations did not worship the same gods as the ones popular in the Sky. “That is the Sun,” he said. “At least, it’s a popular way to depict Her, with Her egg symbolizing all of creation. Personally I think it’s a bit self-important even for a family as prestigious as the Kettles to use a picture of Her for a recipe collection, but this book was compiled long before I was around to give my opinion.”   
  
“Do you mind another assistant?” A tiny voice spoke up from just behind Ezra.  
  
He turned around slowly to make sure Philomene wasn’t so close that he’d be a danger to her, relieved to instead see her sitting on the table atop Melchior. “I suppose ‘assistant’ is the wrong term,” she added. “But I couldn’t help but overhear you were going to try one of the Hearth Magic recipes. Marjorie isn’t feeling well today and I thought I ought to give her some privacy.” Her tone suggested she didn’t want to elaborate on the topic. “Please understand that I don’t mean to eavesdrop! It’s just…”  
  
“We probably sound like storms rumbling out here to you, don’t we?” Ezra carefully softened his voice when he addressed her. He himself had never been fond of shouting; he couldn’t imagine hearing everyone around him bellowing by default. In truth even being near the Flower Folk princess made him nervous on her behalf, but to turn her down after he’d been rude to her before felt cruel. “It’s alright, as long as you keep the moth out of the custard.”  
  
“Custard, is it? Well!” Basil was less concerned about speaking softly, especially while grinning. “If nothing else I’ll have to stick around to act as a taste-tester. Though why custard?”  
  
“When I was sleeping on and off I had some strange dreams. I dreamed of when I was still little, and I’d burned my hand somehow. Mother was still alive and she made me some kind of custard with rosewater.” Ezra set the book down on the table so all could see it, and began flipping through the yellowed pages. “Now maybe she’d just made some for a customer and set some aside for me to cheer me up, but I don’t remember her making anything like that very often. Maybe it didn’t actually happen at all and I’m just confusing dreams with true memories, but the Moon doesn’t send dreams for no reason. And I remember-well, I could have sworn-ah, here!”   
  
He opened it to a chipped page with a relatively short recipe and a longer explanation written next to it. “It’s just a sweet custard base. I was going to top it with some blueberry jam I bought at that market. I’d been meaning to try it anyway, but it seemed like too simplistic a recipe to really impress anyone.”  
  
“I would think,” Philomene said, “starting with the basics would be wisest.”   
  
Ezra thought of the spun-sugar masterpieces he remembered his mother making, compared them mentally to a simple ramekin of custard, and swallowed down his initial defensive reaction. “Well, yes. I suppose. But what confuses me is some of the description. It says it ‘soothes the spirit and eases pain.’ Good food always soothes the spirit, of course, but even the finest dessert wouldn’t do much for physical pain unless…”  
  
Well, so what if some of them were magic? His mother couldn’t have known. None of the modern Kettles could have known. The Kettles were not and had never been cheaters.  
  
“And the directions,” Ezra continued before he could dwell on the thought too long. “They’re just strange! It’s all basic mixing eggs and cream and sugar at first, but then it says to ‘tell or sing a tale of forgiveness’ while the custard is baking in a water bath. I can’t tell if my translation is off or not.”  
  
Philomene limped over to the page and gave it a once-over. “No, you’re correct. If it were anyone else I would assume it was just folklore or superstition, but if it really might be one of Ketyl’s spells…well! I think it’s worth a try.”  
  
Some part of Ezra hoped it really was a spell; if his recipes had no magic in them at all, it meant there was nothing he could do for his friends other than provide a home and warm meals. But if they did, that opened a number of frightening possibilities and more unpleasant thoughts.   
  
“I-I’m not sure a restorative custard could do much good against a plague of overgrown vines,” he admitted to Philomene.  
  
The princess just shook her head, and he heard a soft laugh. “The research might help! That’s why I’m observing. If you must, think of it as something that will ease my back troubles a bit. And your poor leg.”  
  
Ezra stared back down at the cookbook. He couldn’t begin to explain to the princess why her ‘Hearth magic’ hypothesis worried him so, and yet he couldn’t go back on a promise. He took a deep breath. “Basil, do you think you can crack some eggs into a bowl for me? It requires a bit more concentration than I have right now…”

* * *

  
  
Marjorie did feel sick. She was having one of her ‘bad’ days, which meant her limbs ached and her stomach churned no matter how potent the herbs she took. The curse was still under control, but sometimes it seemed to lash out against the treatments and lay her low for a day. Dreaming always brought to mind visions of skin sprouting leaves and branches crushing bones, which meant she did her best to stay awake.   
  
She thought she saw a flicker of silver glow under the cheesecloth on the work table. When she sat up, it was gone; it had to have been a trick of the light.


	17. Kitchen Experimentation II

“So, yes.” Ezra glanced at the custard ramekins sitting in a water-filled tray, baking in the wood-burning oven. “They bake like this…and here goes that ‘forgiveness story’ thing. I wonder why a forgiveness story?”  
  
“Some spells are cast through songs or incantations,” Philomene said, sitting comfortably on Melchior as he perched on the edge of the table. “Stories aren’t as common but not unheard of. A spell infuses a power into something. In this case, you might need to transfer an emotion into it to activate the magic. Um, verbally…”  
  
“Magic is ridiculous.” Ezra scowled. “Talking to custard. And why a ‘forgiveness’ story for a pain-relief spell? Well! Um, anyone have any stories?”  
  
There was dead silence. Basil and Philomene both looked up at Ezra, as if expecting something.  
  
“…Wait, me?” Ezra turned red again. “I am not one for storytelling or performance! And I can’t think of anything off the top of my head!”  
  
“Most of the stories I like involve things getting their heads cut off,” Basil said with a sheepish grin. “Those probably don’t qualify.”  
  
“I am…unskilled at the creative arts,” the princess added. “If I had to talk about chemistry, or give a presentation on Thumbelinan history I could! But stories…well, Marjorie was much better at that.”  
  
“Because she’s a liar,” Ezra muttered under his breath. “But she’s not feeling well, you said?” Which did, in fact, leave him.  
  
He had no desire to share a real-life anecdote, and he couldn’t quite think of one that applied. In truth he did not forgive Hamilton Tooth one bit, and he hadn’t decided how he felt about that ‘Jack’ human. He had forgiven Basil for accusing him of keeping Marjorie captive, but that wasn’t much of a story in his mind. And why would Basil want to hear about himself?  
  
“I suppose I could tell our origin myth. It’s, well, forgiveness is involved! Yes, I’ll do that…” Ezra took a deep breath before he began to speak.  
  
  
 _Once at the birth of the world, all Sky Folk had wings on their backs.  They were great, feathered wings in every color of the rainbow, and they used them to fly near the Sun and the Moon and keep the Divine Sisters company. We, along with the birds, were the Sun’s most favored creations. All were quite happy, for a time.  
  
You see, the Sun had created us by pulling stars down from the sky, and the Moon shaped us into Sky Folk, wings and all. The Folk remembered that they had once been stars, and could not forget the high position they once held in the heavens.   
  
“It is not enough,” those first Folk said to each other when they thought the Sun and Moon could not hear. “What we have here is wonderful, but it is not enough. What good are wings when we used to shine almost as bright as the Divine Sisters themselves? Our hearts will always break with the knowledge of what we’ve lost, and our children’s children will mourn.”   
  
“Perhaps not,” one said. He was called Cerulean for the color of his wings. “We were given wings to fly, weren’t we? We can fly up and bring one of the stars back down with us. Surely we could then take the light from the star and spread it among us so we, too, could shine as we once did.”   
So Cerulean and the other Folk waited until the Sun shone on the other side of the world and the Moon hid behind Her dark cloak. They began flying, higher and higher to the edge of the universe where the darkness curves like the inside of a bubble and the stars hang in the sky. Though they were exhausted from such a long journey, they managed to jostle one star free.   
  
They had intended to carry it back down to the others, but the star was so big and heavy that they couldn’t hold it. It plunged towards the Center of the Universe, and the Sun heard the cries of her most beloved children as they feared they would be crushed to dust.   
  
She could have let the first Folk plunge into the Center of the Universe, which in those days was hot and bubbling like liquid fire. She could have banished our ancestors from her Heavens forever, casting us to the seas. But instead she shone her gentle light, took a deep breath and blew upon the star-thieves. Their wings scattered into a cushion of feathers that held the Folk in the heavens, giving them a gentle landing. The cushion grew and grew until it became the first Sky Island.\  
  
Since then, the Folk live in the Heavens with the Sun and the Moon, for the Sun loves Her children and wishes to keep us close. But we have no wings, and never will again. As for the fallen star, it took all of that resentment and greed it had absorbed from the Folk and plunged into the Center of the Universe, where it sits at the core and continues to radiate corruption and chaos. Thankfully, we…_  
  
  
Ezra trailed off. This was the part of the myth where the teller would end it by blessing the Sun for saving them from the chaos of the land. But they were on the land, in the Center of the Universe.   
He was speaking to two residents of the Center, in fact.  
  
“Oh Sun and Moon.” Ezra buried his face in his hands as his error dawned on him. “That isn’t to say-I mean, what I said about the Center-well, it’s just metaphorical, at least most of it, and-the important thing is the bit with the wings, not the corruption and the chaos and…”  
  
When he dared to peek through his fingers, he saw Basil crossing his arms and frowning. He couldn’t read Philomene’s expression.  
  
“That’s, um, that’s alright,” the princess said, though she sounded a bit put off. “I understand that the Sky Folk are not very fond of the Center of the Universe. It’s just…well, you aren’t responsible for the attitudes of your culture, after all…”  
  
“You don’t think we’re all chaotic, do you?” Basil sounded more irritated. “I mean I’ve made quite an effort to remind myself that most giants are not, in fact, violent threats, and all this time you’ve been thinking I’m chaotic and corrupt?”  
  
“No! I mean, I don’t think you are-neither of you are-honestly,” Ezra said as he slumped his shoulders, “you’ve been wonderful. I shouldn’t have told that story, or I should have left that part at the end out. Now I’ve gone and said awful things about the land and-oh, the custard…!”  
  
He could smell the distinct scent of burnt sugar. When he removed the water tray from the oven, the custards were just slightly overdone. Perhaps a regular customer wouldn’t notice as easily, but to Ezra it was obvious. “Oh, oh no…”  
  
There was another uneasy pause as the three looked over the burnt custard. They looked to one another, and then Basil spoke first.  
  
“Well, I think it looks fine. And I did say some unfortunate things to you in the marketplace. Just, do try to be careful about myths and stories that demonize the land, won’t you?” Basil patted Ezra on the arm. “Remember, friend, you are part of the land now.”  
  
“I-I am, aren’t I. I’m sorry, both of you.” Was he part of the land? Ezra had only spent a week or so on the Center. He was absolutely certain the Center was indeed as chaotic as the myths said, though he was less sure about the so-called ‘corruption.’ Was he growing more chaotic and corrupt now? Falling for a human, living with others and cooking with them? Here he was, tampering with magic! Would he one day forget the feel of soft cloudstuff beneath his feet, the feel of a celestial apple tree or the sound of a golden egg goose’s call?  
  
He didn’t feel very chaotic.  
  
“How strange,” Philomene said. “That giants should fear the residents of the land. You’re so much bigger. But! Shall we try the baked custard? You did indeed tell a story, and there was forgiveness involved.”   
  
“Mm.” Ezra’s neck felt warm. “Forgiveness indeed…”   
  
Each tried a sample. It was too sweet, Ezra thought, and would definitely need that blueberry topping. Perhaps he could use it as a filling in a cornet pastry. Not enough, not enough, some part of him said. It was good, but not good enough…  
  
“Oh,” Basil cried, “this is good! Are you going to sell these? Because to be honest I doubt this batch will be good after a couple of days, even if you do have ice to pack it with. I do humbly offer my services in making sure it doesn’t go to waste…”  
  
“It…is quite good,” Philomene said. She was using a tiny toothpick as a spoon. “I can’t tell if there’s any magic in it or not. I am beginning to wonder if it was just a psychological pain relief after all.”  
  
“No relief to your back?”   
  
Philomene paused and stretched. “Well, a little.”  
  
Indeed, Ezra’s leg was feeling somewhat better. If it was a pain-relieving dessert, it was less effective than Violet’s medicines.   
  
“I’ll try again,” Ezra declared. “There’s plenty of time in the day left! And I have several days to go. I have eggs and cream left, and flour! There’s a cake recipe-well, obviously a lot of cake recipes. Basil, could you help me clean up? I’ll need those pots for the next recipe!”  
  
“The next…?” Philomene laughed nervously. “Ezra, you just made something. You don’t need to throw yourself right into the next project. And your work will suffer if you’re under pressure. And you did indeed infuse a tiny bit of magic into this! It’s at least a start.”  
  
“Nonsense! I thrive under pressure. Certainly I could make a cheese pie for dinner if nothing else. Got to be a magical cheese pie recipe…”   
  
 A thought was devouring his mind. It said, _this is not enough. It will not be enough for The Gourmet. It will not be enough for Thumbelina or your friends. You are meant to be a kitchen god. You cannot settle._  
  
“Ezra.”   
  
He heard Basil’s voice and felt a hand upon his. Basil was looking up at him, brow furrowed in worry.  
  
“It’s really fine for now. You had a strange look in your eyes just now. And magic is tricky stuff, I’m sure of it. Why don’t you let me handle dinner? I told you, I know how to gut a fish. I can roast one too!”   
  
It felt like someone had splashed cold water on Ezra’s face. Had he slipped into some kind of fog? He silently sat back down at the table, closing the cookbook.   
  
“Well!” Ezra said when he could finally manage to speak again. “I don’t know what that was. Maybe I cast the spell incorrectly and made an energizing custard. You’re probably right. If I was on my feet all evening my leg would never heal up. And I have never had roasted fish. Wait,” he added with a frown, “are you going to use Aurora to catch them?” At the very least, he would have to supervise Basil to make sure any fish a bear had touched was washed out properly.   
  
“Have to catch them first! I shall return!” Basil stepped outside a little too quickly, and Ezra wondered if maybe he’d managed to alienate the prince through his odd spell of ambition.  
  
Philomene hobbled over to where Ezra sat slumped at the table. “May I have a word?”  
  
“Of course.” He was in no mood to speak, but something about Philomene’s demeanor made her hard to refuse.  
  
“Who is this client you’re so intent on working with? The one you ran into at the Market.”  
  
Ezra was sure he could remember the man’s name this time. It had just crossed his mind, seconds ago! Even his image of the man was fuzzy. Tall, he remembered, and lean. There was something about the color red?  
  
“They called him The Gourmet. Yes, that’s right. I suppose some kind of nickname or title. He seemed to be some sort of bigwig. He promised me…oh, it’s slipping my mind.” Ezra rubbed his temples. “I don’t recall having any wine at the Market! Maybe I was just under a lot of stress.”  
  
“I’m sure that’s it.” Philomene looked up at him. “But why him? Marjorie tells me you sold all of your pies that night…”  
  
“Because of him. And he knew it wasn’t everything it could be. He held me to a high standard. No had done that in a long time.” Ezra looked away. It was difficult having face-to-face conversations with Philomene, as scale prevented either from making proper eye contact. “And you expected something of me too. I’m sorry again about my reaction at first, but magic is-well, not exactly taboo up in the Sky, but it isn’t looked upon highly when not completely necessary. Most people can’t use it at all.”  
  
“And those who can?”  
  
There was no avoiding the conversation now. How was she so good at getting a straight answer out of him? Perhaps it was because she was used to Marjorie.  
  
“In the case of the Kettles, when it was rumored we even had the capacity to infuse our dishes with magic, my mother and grandparents were accused of cheating. Customers thought she would slip enchantments into the food to make it look or taste better.”   
  
Philomene tilted her head. “And that would be cheating?”  
  
“We would never slip anything into food without customers knowing it! Our work spoke for itself. Besides, it would be unethical. My mother might have known a little magic after all, but she was no huckster.” Ezra sighed. “It didn’t matter in the end. A few rumors here and there and our professional reputation was tarnished for generations. If I could restore it…”   
  
“You feel the same way towards your family name that I do towards my kingdom.”  
  
Ezra startled, sitting up quickly. “It’s not-well, it’s hardly comparable! I mean, you’ve got a kingdom full of living people! A name-well a name is just a concept, you know. I did not mean to-”  
  
“Please!” She laughed. “It’s alright to be troubled by your own situation even if it’s not as dire as mine. But something about this client seems off. Everything about him. Especially if you can’t remember his name all the time.”  
  
“It was just stress…” What was the princess getting at?  
  
“I asked Marjorie to take me along next time she goes to the marketplace. I’m going to amend that. I want to go along with you, to see this Gourmet myself.” Philomene stood up as straight as she could with her cane, taking the commanding tone of royalty.  
  
Ezra stared down at the Flowerling. “Wait! But-but you want to come with me? I have no experience with something so-someone so-where would you hide? What if I squished you? I mean no offense, Princess, but the Marketplace is huge and you are very tiny.”  
  
“And you’re huge! Frankly I’d be safer with you. I could travel up higher. Did anyone bump into your shoulders last time you went?”   
  
“Well, no.” Goodness, Ezra thought, was she this persuasive and stubborn with Marjorie too? “You would have a high seat if you hid somewhere on my person, I suppose. But if I made one wrong move I could squish you! And the Gourmet may not want a third party present. And aren’t people looking for you?”  
  
“They won’t think to look for me in the pockets of a giant, would they? And he doesn’t even need to know I’m there. We Flower Folk have always been masters at being unseen, quite by necessity. And at navigating much larger things which are often far less careful than you are.” Philomene took a deep breath. “Look, something about this is off. You’re helping me, so I want to help you. I won’t command you as I’m not your princess, so…please?”  
  
Ezra was unsure how this was ‘helping’ him, but trusting the princess had not steered him wrong so far. Besides, it was just difficult to say no to her.   
  
“Alright. Alright! Marjorie will kill me…” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m still not sure why you want to see him for yourself.”  
  
“Because,” Philomene said, “You were showing subtle symptoms the Toad had before his betrayal. I think you might be falling in thrall to something unnatural. And I won’t lose another friend to magic.” 


	18. Philomene and the Giant

“So.” The Rot Witch held the Toad between her thumb and left forefinger, much tighter than he would have preferred, and brought him up to her puffy, sunken face. He caught sight of a mushroom peeking out of her cloak where her hair would have been.   
  
“…So? Are you doing this to intimidate me? I know you can’t kill me.” The Toad had no choice but to bluff in her presence. “The Green Witch-”  
  
“I know, I know. Gave you her blessing. Flighty little idiot she is. Well,” the Rot Witch added with a hissing chuckle, “not so little at the moment. But speaking of. I need you for something.”   
The Toad blinked. “Does it involve the princess?”  
  
“You single-minded twit! You’ll do it whether it involves her or not.” She dropped the Toad. He landed safely but uncomfortably as she loomed over him, grinning and showing no teeth. “You’re going to go to Market and spy on my brother. He’s making his weekly trip to that garish place, and I know he has something planned. Why else would he ask me to deliver that Silver Apple, or object to feeding the giant to my wolves?”  
  
“Why did you deliver it if you don’t like him?”  
  
“It’s a secret agreement among us all. We are each able to ask one favor of the others per quarter year. Just one! And better he ask something simple of me than interfere with my sister or try to get something from Mirror.” The Rot Witch shuddered, and Toad found himself wondering what ‘Mirror’ could be that she found them intimidating. “And I got a nice dosage of fear from that cursed girl when she saw that ugly fruit again, so it suits me just fine! But it’s got me curious, and I can’t enter the Market myself. The Gourmet is on Its good side and got me kicked out a few hundred years ago over a little spat. But neither It nor he will recognize you.”   
  
“It? You mean the Market?” The Toad puffed out his throat in confusion. “But the Market is a place…”  
  
“Stop wasting my time with questions. Turn that ring of yours three times Widdershins and remember the right incantation this time!” She gave him another awful grin. “A wee little frog would just get trampled flat there. I need you a little taller tonight…”

* * *

  
“I’m still unsure of this,” Ezra said with a flinch as he looked down at Philomene, who was sitting comfortably in his hand.  
  
“I am completely unsure of this! In fact, I’m absolutely sure it’s a terrible idea.” As expected, Marjorie had not taken it well when Philomene had explained her plan. She was storming about just outside of the Moonflower Gate, pacing back and forth and giving Ezra the evil eye. It was an unseasonably humid night, and Marjorie’s hairs curling disobediently out of her bun only made her look more nervous.  
  
The jester-handmaiden had been on edge since they’d brought back that dreadful apple. Philomene felt a twinge of guilt, but reminded herself she was working for both the greater good and for Marjorie’s own life. This would pass.  
  
It was odd, Philomene thought, seeing her from above. Did Ezra always have to address people from the tops of their heads?  
  
“It’ll be fine,” she called down to Marjorie. “I promise you! Ezra’s quite careful and very gentle. You should have seen him decorating those cookies!” She pointed to the cart, where Ezra had brought several ricotta cheese pies, custard pies and sun-shaped sugar cookies with scented icing. The desserts were all made to human-scale this time, each intricately ‘painted’ with painstaking detail.   
  
Attempts to get Ezra to stop working for a while had often proved futile over the past few days. He was still on his crutch and had the haggard look of sleep deprivation. All the more reason for Philomene to supervise his negotiations with this ‘Gourmet;’ he was vulnerable to manipulation in this state.  
  
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you will. Far be it from me to offer anything like good advice or a lifetime of servitude and complain over being overlooked for our dear mutual friend.” Marjorie fanned herself, feigning indifference quite poorly. “I cannot tell you what to do, Princess. I am your servant.” She bit her lip, and then pointed up at Ezra with one of her long fingers. “But if anything does happen to her on your watch, you’d better hope it’s because something worse has happened to you…!”  
  
Ezra took a full step back, flinching under Marjorie’s steely gaze. “I’ll be extremely careful,” he insisted. Up close, his voice really was like an earthquake. Philomene thanked the Revered Thumbelina that her kind had a high tolerance for loud noises, lest she go deaf in his presence.   
  
“And I,” Basil declared as he flared out his own fur cape, “shall keep watch from afar in case there really are shady things afoot! Besides,  Ezra needs someone to help promote his cookies. If they see a handsome, brave prince eating a few, surely-”  
  
“Of course you can have a few,” Ezra said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “You’re welcome to whenever you want, Basil.” Philomene noticed his pulse increasing a little as he spoke to the prince, and took note. “But we should hurry if we’re going to have long there…” He set Philomene safely in his own pocket, hands shaking.   
  
“What happens if you stay past sunrise, anyway?” Philomene asked. Marjorie had always returned by dawn.   
  
“Well, I don’t…” Marjorie tapped her chin. “I’m not sure, but I was advised not to do so. Presumably the place shuts down and the Gates stop working, so you’re stranded for a day who-knows-where. It looks like it must be a dreadfully dull place when it’s closed.”  
  
Odd, Philomene thought. Odd, and a little dangerous. There was more than one reason she’d finally put her foot down and demanded to come along. Everything about this Market arose suspicion in her, Ezra’s client being merely the most glaring example. 

* * *

  
The trip through the Gate was a dizzying experience of blue light and the brief sense of being shaken and rearranged, like a bag full of rice. Philomene slowly emerged from the pocket just far enough to peek out without being too conspicuous, well aware that Ezra likely couldn’t avoid attention either way. She doubted many Sky Folk made it to the Market, isolated as they often were.  
  
What she saw was a sea of people, some crowding in clumps around stands, others forming circles around musicians or artists. The landscape itself was eerily flat, though she couldn’t see past the edges of the marketplace. In the far distance she could see only darkness.   
  
Philomene spoke into the bracelet around her left wrist. While Ezra was not opposed to wearing a ring set with one of the few garnet Jewels of Communication Philomene had managed to activate, the one they had was sized for a human and wouldn’t fit on his hand. Thus he wore it around his neck, allowing the two to speak in a crowd without her being drowned out. She’d installed a tiny fragment of her own mirror shard in the bracelet, and it seemed to work fairly well for the mo  
ment.

“Well, that was certainly an experience! Ezra, did you know that was a fully-functional, self-sustaining stationary teleportation spell we just went through?” Philomene peeked out again before ducking back into the pocket to rest for a moment, still adjusting to the sensory overload. “I wondered how Marjorie was able to access such a place from the middle of the forest and I had my suspicions, but I had no idea!”  
  
“Uh. Is it, then.” Ezra’s voice came through over the bracelet, uncertain.   
  
“Yes! I think it’s drawing energy from those strange flowers. I’d love a specimen, but according to Marjorie she’s been advised by Magic Quarter locals never to pick one. I don’t suppose we could wander into the Magic Quarter when you have a moment? Marjorie says it’s a dangerous place and I’m sure it is, but…oh, there must be such marvels there! Such advancements and developments! If people from all over the world can access this place from points like that…”  
  
“I-I suppose so. Princess,” Ezra said, sounding hesitant. “I am here primarily for business.”  
  
“Oh! Yes, of course. Forgive me. Pretend I am not even here.” Philomene propped herself, finding a way to lean against the side of the pocket and rest comfortably without sinking into the cavernous bottom.   
  
His movements were actually a bit smoother than Marjorie’s usually were, and slower as well. She sat and took in the sights of brightly colored fabrics, glowing potions, the fiery torches of a dancing centaur and the brimstone scent of young salamanders sold as pets. For as much time as she’d spent in libraries and laboratories in Thumbelina, she’d missed this. Just being among people, crowds of them, while feeling safe and secure around them. Of course, her public appearances as a princess gave her plenty of faces to speak to on her own level, with the humans present bowing their heads and keeping carefully to safer areas. Here she was, for better or worse, invisible.  
  
Ezra was anything but invisible. As he walked the crowds parted and faces of every nationality and appearance stared up at him, some gawking and a few pointing. It was impossible for Philomene to see his face from her angle, but the way he turned his head suggested he was deliberately avoiding eye contact. His pulse was increasing again too, as she could feel through his shirt.  
  
“Ezra,” she said quietly. “It’s rather isolating, isn’t it?”  
  
“Pardon, Your Highness?”  
  
“This. I did not realize there was such a distance between you and humans. I knew there was one between humans and my kind. Forgive me if I probe, but do you miss eye contact?”  
  
Ezra was quiet for a moment. “I can make eye contact with humans, as long as I concentrate. And-and it’s not quite the same! I mean we thought humans were dangerous and to some extent they still are as a group, but as individuals they’re much more dangerous to you. Right?”  
  
“Well, yes. But you must get such a sore neck after a while.”  
  
Philomene had spoken earnestly, and was thus surprised to hear Ezra chuckling, his body shaking slightly as he covered his mouth. “Ezra,” she reminded herself as she grabbed ahold of the pocket, “careful!”  
  
“Sorry! I’m sorry, Princess.” He calmed himself, clearing his throat. The crowds around him seemed to have lost their interest, though Philomene thought she caught others eyeing him from a distance and whispering. “The last thing I need is to be sitting around laughing to myself over things no one can hear. That’s no good for a public image.”  
  
“I’ve never heard you laugh!” Philomene blinked. “Was that funny?”  
  
“It’s just…I don’t know! A sore neck, I never even thought about it. But when you said it that way, I just realized it’s not so bad at all. I have friends down here and I’ve been more successful and happy than I was up there for years. And standing out isn’t so bad. I just would rather stand out for better reasons-you know, my talent. And for some reason, realizing I like it here and I want to stay, it was like a weight lifted on me. And I started laughing.” Ezra reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. “The distance isn’t so far with Marjorie and Basil, or even with you. And with everyone else-well, it isn’t as if I wasn’t rather isolated among my own kind, too.”  
  
Philomene listened and then smiled, looking up at him and seeing those huge gold eyes peering back down from above. “I’m very pleased to hear that, and I’m sure the others will, too. They both seem quite fond of you.”  
  
“They do?” A little bit of reddish tint flooded Ezra’s face. “Basil, too? I wasn’t sure if he likes me…”  
“I’m sure he-” Philomene paused. She was, generally speaking, terrible at reading that sort of thing. “He seems like the sort who would not conceal his feelings,” she said, after thinking it through. “But, um, oh dear, don’t let me distract you from your business! We’re here to find your client, right?”  
  
“My client, yes.” Ezra, clearly flustered, turned away and carried his cart into what was clearly the food stand quarter. “I haven’t seen him at all. He stands out, you see.”  
  
Philomene noticed a movement in the crowd, whispers increasing. A woman dressed in colorful robes stepped forward, speaking to her taller companion. “I think,” Philomene heard the woman say, “that’s the Sky baker the Gourmet suggested.” From there a line of hungry patrons seemed to swell out of nowhere, quickly occupying Ezra as he started selling his sweet-smelling goods.   
  
From the look on his face he was just as astonished as she was, though clearly quite pleased.  
This left her another chance to look around, wishing once more she could climb out and just walk among the crowds instead of experiencing everything from the pockets and hands of others. She gazed upwards at the dome of stars. “Ezra,” she asked quietly, “why is the night sky different here? The moon was out before…”  
  
There was a hesitance in his voice, and he covered his mouth as he whispered back to her. “It’s best not to ask questions like that. The answer can’t possibly be good. Sorry, Philomene, but I’m rather busy…”  
  
“Oh, yes! Yes, of course…” Philomene frowned. There was that nearly reflexive lack of curiosity again. He saw what he wanted to see and nothing else, all the more reason to be vigilant in guarding her potential magic-using ally.   
  
“Scuse me, sir!” A young man in thick spectacles with a wide mouth and a slightly hoarse voice cleared his throat and looked up at Ezra. “Can you explain to me the significance of this design?” He was holding up one of the iced cookies decorated with a bird sigil.  
  
“Oh! The-yes, of course. Hold on a second.” Ezra leaned over to better address the human, leaving Philomene clinging to the side of his pocket with all of her strength. She’d have to talk to him afterward about being more careful.   
  
She never heard the explanation, or had time to reflect on anything else. It happened so quickly. One minute she was in the pocket, and the next she was peering out at the world through the human’s fingers, wrapped around her like the bars of a cage. He must have moved too rapidly for Ezra to notice, as the giant stood back up and turned away from the customer. She saw him moving to speak with someone, a long-limbed, humanoid figure with flesh the color of raw meat.   
What had Ezra said about the Gourmet? He was red?  
  
“Ezra.” She whispered through her bracelet to no answer. “Ezra, can you hear me? Oh, this cannot malfunction now…!”  
  
“He can’t hear you.” The strange, harsh voice of the human who’d snatched her filled her ears, and as he walked away he held her up to his face. There was something odd about his eyes; the shape of his pupils was not quite right. He grinned, showing off shiny white teeth. “Not when he’s around THAT fellow. Those Other Ones, when they want to be, can be very charismatic. I really didn’t expect to see you here, though! Don’t you recognize one of your own subjects, Princess?”  
  
Philomene glared without deigning to answer. She could recall now human residents of Thumbelina fitting his description. Had a Flowerling managed to enlarge himself to human size somehow?  
  
“Or I guess I should say, your rightful leader and future husband. Toad’s the name, Avery Toad.” 


	19. Confusing Melody

“Miss Marjorie! Miss Marjorie.” Basil, as infuriatingly persistent as he could be, would not stop following Marjorie as they entered the Market. “May I have a word with you? Prince to Refined Lady and all.”  
  
Marjorie had no desire to have any words with anyone at the moment. Philomene was over there, with Ezra, the both of them already separated from Marjorie by a seemingly endless sea of Market-goers. At least Ezra was easy to spot, being something of a island by comparison.   
  
She took a deep breath. “Did you just call me a ‘refined lady,’ Basil? Here I thought I was the liar.” She flashed a honeyed smile, but could tell it was strained.   
  
Basil must have noticed too, from the way he winced and shook his head. “I mean it! You are the Princess’s handmaid, and the both of you are quite refined. As a royal, I ought to know!”  
  
Marjorie thought of pointing out how Basil himself had likely lost some of his ‘refinement’ from years of living a peasant’s life in the woods and singing bears to sleep, but that would have been unnecessarily cruel. He meant well, that much she knew. That much well-meaning, in fact, was something she couldn’t help but find a bit intimidating. It was unnatural, being that reductive about nearly everyone.   
  
“Okay, Basil, enough buttering me up. What is this about? If you’re asking why I’m tense, it should be obvious.” Marjorie smoothed down her hair.   
  
“Well it is, but that doesn’t make it any less alarming. You’re more likely to make mistakes if your nerves are shot! First rule of combat. Well, no, not the first rule. I’m not sure there are rules.” Basil paused to think before shrugging it off. “Nor is it relevant to the conversation! What I mean to say is, do you think the Market is a dangerous place?”  
  
“It…Well, it can be.” Marjorie frowned, shooting another glance at Ezra as he settled into the culinary district. “There are pickpockets here, though rumor has it they face some nasty punishment if caught. I, of course, would never do such a thing,” she added quickly, if not altogether honestly. “And not just because of the punishment thing! Besides, there are hucksters, poison-sellers, the risk of being caught here after the gates close, all of that. It’s worth it if we can find a way to save Thumbelina Kingdom. Or, I suppose, figure out why the Green Witch is targeting us and the Sky in different ways.”   
  
She knew she was nervous; words flowed out of her like a waterfall when she was. It wasn’t a state she enjoyed. Marjorie preferred to keep a close watch on everything she said.  
  
“Then work your frustration out on me. I offer it, as Prince Charming.” Basil opened his arms and grinned.   
  
Marjorie raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering to let me punch you? That isn’t really my style.”  
  
“No! I mean-this is neither the time nor the place for that.” Basil scowled. “I mean, better you vent to me rather than explode later at Ezra or Philomene. You are jealous.”  
  
“Jealous!” Marjorie felt her face flush red hot and turned away. “Jealous. I’m completely above such petty emotions, Basil. Jealousy isn’t useful at all.”  
  
“I’m not sure emotions are useful,” Basil said hesitantly. “But regardless, jealousy or none, you’re letting your temper flare. And that is…not like you, my lady.”   
  
Marjorie bit her lip, looking back at Basil. “You still call me a ‘lady’ even though I’m a servant?”  
  
“To Prince Charming, the humblest among us is worthy of respect. And I’ve been to royal balls.” Basil rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. “Believe me, you’re more worthy of the title ‘Lady’ than some of the actual nobles I’ve had to talk to at those things.”   
  
 _If you knew more about me_ , Marjorie thought as she stifled a bitter smile, y _ou would be more reluctant to show me that respect._ But she let it stay unspoken, crossing her arms and sighing.  
  
“Alright. You win, you flatterer. It’s just-she’s so tiny! I don’t like to say so in front of her because the Flower Folk hate it when humans lord our size over them. They consider themselves a default the way the giants do. The way we do, really. But this is a market of mostly humans! If there are Flower Folk stalls or quarters, I haven’t seen any. And could you blame them for avoiding it? A room full of humans is full of deadly dangers. And she’s tiny…!”  
  
“And Ezra’s enormous,” Basil reminded her. “Surely that should work in her favor.”  
  
“Enormous, exactly, and not at all aware of the world around him. Oh he tries to be conscious, don’t get me wrong. The poor overgrown sheepdog is careful with his every step for fear he’ll hurt us and presumably we’ll reject him. He has an eye for details if he focuses. But listen! If an ant crawled up your leg and back down without you feeling a thing, would you notice? Would you think much of it?”   
  
Basil blinked and frowned. “You seem to have analyzed him very thoroughly, my lady.”  
  
“Oh, Basil. I’ve analyzed all of you. Strengths, weaknesses and all. It’s part of my job and my training. Please don’t take offense.” Merely venting had indeed started to calm Marjorie down, and she managed to give him a more lilting smile this time.   
  
“Wait.” Basil stared, turning away from the distraction of a stall selling hot roasted nuts. “You know my weaknesses?”  
  
Marjorie paused, sighed, and handed over a few moon-printed coins she’d had on hand from a previous trip to buy Basil some of those roasted nuts. Better to distract him before he got too suspicious. “Well, aside from the whole temperature problem, you’re impulsive, self-conscious and blinded by your sense of pride and insecurity. You’re earnest and transparent in a way that’s really quite endearing and I’m sure that’s part of why he likes you, but it makes you quite easy to read. Never you mind, darling! I’d never use it against you.”   
  
As if trying to take in all the information at once, Basil blinked slowly, ate a handful of roasted nuts, and glanced away. “That’s…very thorough for a court jester. And what do you mean he-”  
  
Marjorie cut in, in no mood to explain the obvious to Basil at such a time. “Jester, bodyguard and handmaiden,” she said, counting them off on her fingers. “If a human earns the right to live in Thumbelina, she had best earn her keep. And I understand why she wanted to go with him.” Her smile faded. “I understand. She wants to save everyone, Philomene. It isn’t just that Ezra might have the kind of magic we need to save ourselves. The way she sees it is, she has the knowledge to keep him safe and thus it’s her duty to use it for his sake. All must contribute one’s own strengths, all must utilize one’s own weapons for the whole. That’s the way of Thumbelina Kingdom, from the royal family right down to the humblest sweeper.”   
  
Basil was quiet for a moment, and then shook his head again. “You are not afraid of having your contribution taken away, are you?”  
  
“My contribution? You mean me being replaced?”   
  
“Well, I got the impression.” Basil gave her a sheepish grin, but persisted. “You’re a very loyal servant, and any king or queen would be honored to have you serve them. But surely that’s not all there is to you.”  
  
Marjorie squeezed her hands into fists so tight her nails dug into her palm and glared at Basil. “That’s all the good I’ll ever be or do!”  She realized seconds later she’d spoken aloud, turned away and started marching back towards the culinary market.  
  
This was not the time to slip into negative thoughts! She would not think of apples, of mirrors or sorcery families. She had her princess and her duty and that was all she needed.   
  
“Lady Marjorie, wait!” Basil ran after her, pushing through the crowd. “Did I say something foolish again? I-I just wanted to help. Prince Charming is wise and kind and offers a helping hand to all, and I…”  
  
Oh, Basil. Marjorie shook her head and turned around to face him again. “It isn’t you. We’ll chat later, shall we? When I’m under a little less stress. And I don’t have to worry about the princess drowning, or being crushed, or getting lost, or falling into a pie…”  
  
A tall older woman pushed past Marjorie, brushing her shoulder. After quickly checking herself to make sure she hadn’t just been pick-pocketed, Marjorie spun around to flash a more obviously false smile. “Oh, that’s perfectly fine! No need to apologize to me. For nearly knocking me over. A frail, infirm young woman like me could have collapsed from that sort of insult but I, um, hello?”  
  
The woman acted as if she hadn’t heard Marjorie. She was one of a crowd gathering in a huge circle near the center of the market. There was a faint yellow glow coming from whatever was in the center, though it could have just been candlelight flickering off of a reflective surface. She heard a young, androgynous and vaguely mechanical voice singing, an alto if she was not mistaken, and the gentle, melancholy strumming of a harp.  
  
“Oh! A minstrel, right? Or what are they called, busker.” Basil had mercifully decided not to push the earlier subject and was enjoying his snack. “It looks to me like Ezra’s booth is making a lot of money, too. But no sign of that Gourmet person he described. What if he doesn’t show up at all? It would disappoint Ezra so.”  
  
Marjorie was only half paying attention to Basil. While the harpist was clearly quite a talented musician and vocalist, she had no idea what it was that could draw such a massive crowd. That centaur woman who played her harp in the Market all the time wasn’t getting a fraction of the attention he was. Some part of her was tempted to steal a peek just to figure out what his trick was; she could make good money that way, money she could use towards more expensive magical artifacts for Philomene.  
  
But she had a mission and a focus, one which had to be on Ezra. She’d informed him to signal her if anything happened to the princess, making it quite clear what the consequences would be otherwise.   
  
“Come along, Basil. You did promise to eat a few cookies to help Ezra sell them, right? And the sooner he sells out, the sooner he can go find that ‘client’ of his.” Marjorie tugged on his arm. “…Basil?”  
  
The prince did not respond. He was staring into the circle, eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated. His arms were limp and his legs rigid, body language showing no signs of the constant fidgeting he usually did to stay warm. He had dropped the bag of nuts, half-finished.  
  
 _The green retreats to darkest nowhere, the green retreats to blue…_  
  
Marjorie squeezed her temples and shut her eyes. “Don’t listen to the song,” she whispered to herself. She was starting to recognize the signs of magically-induced hypnotism in the crowd. “Don’t listen,” she repeated louder, hoping at least Basil would overhear her while knowing all the while it was impossible. A hypnotic song would drown out all other stimuli.   
  
 _The silver apple painted red, the apple blooms in blood…_  
  
“Why am I listening!?” Marjorie pinched herself. She wanted to run off back towards Ezra but didn’t dare leave Basil, in case the harpist had unsavory plans for his or her audience. “See, this is why I should be allowed to plan these things. I come up with sound plans! That don’t always allow for things like hypnotic music, but still…”  
  
She spotted a concession stand selling beer in wooden mugs, with a sign detailing a wicked fate for any customers who didn’t return the mugs after. It wasn’t ideal, and Basil would be irritated with her for dousing him in beer (to say nothing of the rest of the crowd) but it might be enough of a sensory shock to overpower that dreadful song.   
  
“Who sings about silver apples anyway? That’s awful, it’s just…”  
  
 _The princess weeps within her tower, the princess dies alone…_  
  
She stopped, two steps towards the concession stand. Everything was growing blurry. She didn’t want to hear such a terrible song. She knew what it was doing. She knew it had to be part of the spell, the suspiciously specific lyrics. Everyone else was probably hearing something else. Though it was lovely, and soothing in its misery. And maybe it picked up at the end. Maybe the song was trying to tell her how to find her happy ending? Yes, that had to be it. There had to be a happy ending at the conclusion of the song.  
  
She turned around, gazing towards the middle of the circle, and all she could hear was the voice.  
  
 _The mirror cracks for you, my love. The mirror cracks for you…_

* * *

  
Jack was astonished at how much attention he was getting from the crowd just by rehearsing that song the Gourmet had given him. Perhaps he was improving. He did wish it had more of a vocal component. While he enjoyed playing the strings, he always felt strange about making the harp sing on its own. It always reminded him of the odd look in Hamilton Tooth’s eyes when he’d snuck into the wealthy giant’s room. But Ezra had said it was just a toy, one built with some kind of mechanism that imitated a voice.   
  
And what a poor imitation it was! All Jack could hear as he played was a strange, metallic warbling stream of nonsense syllables streaming from the head of the harp.  


	20. Song of Distress

Philomene could see it in her captor’s eyes now. His pupils were the wrong shape, black horizontal slits, and bulged slightly. When he blinked she briefly saw a second, translucent eyelid.  
   
She knew those eyes.

“Toad.” Philomene took a deep breath to steady her heart. Panic would do her no good. “Listen to me. You need to bring me back to Ezra. This is ridiculous.” 

“Is it? Am I ridiculous, Princess? Tell me, who brought about the downfall of an entire kingdom?” His voice didn’t sound quite right coming from a lanky human instead of a toad. It was scratchy, bellowing as any human voice was but quite nasal. He also seemed to be breathing heavily and she could feel his pulse racing in his palm, though she suspected that was just the excitement at having caught his ‘prey.’

How foolish she’d been to insist upon coming along! Of course she was just putting herself in danger. She simply had not factored the Toad in as a potential danger at the Market.

“The Green Witch brought it about. You do not even know what you’re doing with me, do you? You’re acting on impulse. This cannot be why you’re here.” Philomene narrowed her eyes. “You had no idea I was here. Even if you’d recognized Ezra, you couldn’t have guessed.”

The Toad puffed out his cheeks, perhaps an attempt to imitate an indignant throat-puff. “First of all, I have a name now! It’s Avery Toad.” Enlightened Animals could choose names, though most saw it as a pointless human-like endeavor. Why the Toad would suddenly choose a name for a human form was something Philomene could only wonder about. 

“And second,” he continued in a hushed whisper, “you are not, in fact, the reason I am here. Congratulations. I do have concerns outside of you, flattering as it might be for you to think otherwise.” He turned around, a safe distance from Ezra and the long-coated man who must have been the Gourmet. Philomene could still see them, though her view was constantly obscured by passerby. She could not hear them at all.

“I’ve been sent to find out what that individual there wants with that stupid giant you two latched onto. Though frankly if he’s fallen in thrall with the Gourmet, you have no idea how much better off you are with me.” The Toad, or Avery, stopped to catch his breath again, and his hands seem to twitch and tense as if he were in pain. 

Philomene could only peer out from between his fingers, clasped like the bars of a cage. The Gourmet was connected with the Green Witch? Or perhaps she wasn’t, if she (or another entity) had to send the Toad to spy on him. “I was trying to protect him until you interfered. Peculiar as it is that you were able to steal me away so quickly without him noticing…”

“Oh, this spell really is a doozy! Fingers are so much more useful than toes. Especially these! Quite skillful, by the Green Witch’s design.” Avery shuddered again. “Of course, a few side effects persist. Remember that theory about how a successful transformation spell greatly altering the subject’s mass would have a few risks? Sure, when that ring is active it feels like there are nails being driven through my finger, and the joint pain from having my form stretched out is a little much. And if I stay too long…but you know, it’s all worth it for you. You have no idea how amazing it is to finally be one of those walking towers who think they rule the whole world outside of Thumbelina. When I’m king, I’ll have them all exiled. This much power is far too dangerous!”

“You mean it’s all worth it for you to sit on the throne as the Green Witch’s puppet.” Philomene knew pushing the Toad when he was in a perfect position to squish or drop her was a bad idea, but a reminder of their history only made her angrier. His jostling her around was causing the pain in her back and legs to flare up. She’d left her cane in Ezra’s pocket, not that it would have done her much good. Altogether, she was in no mood to sympathize with her enemy’s self-inflicted troubles.

She took a deep breath. She was on her own for the time being and had to try to find the best, wisest course of action until her friends found her. Marjorie and Basil were nowhere to be seen, which was quite unusual in the case of both. Ezra, apparently, was beyond seeing or hearing her in the presence of the Gourmet, who seemed to captivate the young baker. 

Looking at him from a distance gave her a better picture of his overall state. Ezra always seemed to look a bit overworked and harried, but now he had bags under his eyes and a glassy look as if he hadn’t slept in days. He looked pallid, and occasionally his hands shook. How much pressure had he put himself under to impress this entity? How long had he been in thrall to…what was it Avery had called them. ‘Other Ones?’

Of course. Even when she’d been on considerably better terms with the Toad, he had been unable to keep secrets or shut his mouth if he thought he could come out of a conversation looking good. If nothing else, she could try to squeeze a few drops of information out of him. She knew he needed her alive for reasons of his own, and his ‘spy’ mission wouldn’t allow him to flee immediately. 

“Avery. Can you even hear anything from here? It’s just the roar of the crowd. Won’t your mistress be displeased if all you can tell her is that the Gourmet is talking to Ezra?” Philomene asked.

Avery huffed. “I can hear a bit! Any closer and he might detect me here. Just because your friend is too far gone to care doesn’t mean I want to fall under his influence.”

“Influence?”

“I have the Green Witch’s mark on me, so I am probably safe. But I didn’t get this far in my quest by making stupid mistakes! The Gourmet is one of the older Other Ones, and he feeds off of hunger and desire. He must feast every night here, this being a marketplace and all. And when one of the Other Ones starts to feed off of you, they can control you. Unless you’re strong-willed and sharp-minded like me! The Green Witch told me she wouldn’t be able to control me at all, and that’s why she chose me as her champion.” Avery’s voice swelled with pride, though he kept it under a whisper. “Too bad about your friend.” 

So, Philomene thought, both the Gourmet and the Green Witch were Other Ones. Meaning the Green Witch was likely not a true witch at all. No wonder Marjorie had never heard a word or whisper about her in the magic quarter. But what was an Other One? She’d never come across the term in any of her books, documents or research. 

She saw Ezra reach into the back of his cart and pull out a tart small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, one which looked a little different from the others. She hadn’t remembered seeing him make anything like that. A smile crossed the Gourmet’s face, revealing too many teeth. She couldn’t see what happened next as another crowd rushed by in front of her.

“Oh, and a real shame about your bodyguard and the forest prince, too! Some champions they turned out to be.” Avery snorted. “But just as weak-willed as the giant was in the end. Take a look.” He turned around so quickly that Philomene fell over onto her side again, revealing a cluster of humans from all walks of life, young and old, some clad in fashions she’d never come across before. They were all facing away from her, staring into the center of a circle where a harp played a mournful tune. Nonetheless, she recognized Marjorie and Basil immediately, Basil unnaturally still and Marjorie looking as if she was sleepwalking.

“Marjorie!” Philomene called out as loud as she could, only to be drowned out by Avery’s laugh.  
“Thrall, I tell you! This is why you should stick with me. I’m reliable. My mind is completely my own. Whereas that clingy bodyguard of yours fell victim to a harp!” He stopped laughing for a moment. “A harp, where did I hear her say something about-well, nevermind. Not your business! I’ve got enough gossip to tell the Rot Witch, and I have my princess. You’ll come with me and I’m sure she’ll find some way to convince you to relent! Never fear, I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll be wed and the Green Witch will free Thumbelina Kingdom for our happily ever after…”  
   
Philomene grabbed her head, trying to fight back tears. Moonflower Market was more dangerous than she could have imagined, and that danger had ensnared all of her friends. She shouted back up to him even if she couldn’t see his face. “You don’t see anything wrong with this? One moment you were our friend. You were a respectable citizen! And then one day you come up with the idea to sell us all out to a dangerous entity, who’s convinced you to work with other entities on her behalf, putting your own body at risk. I can feel your pulse through your palm, you know! It’s far too fast for a healthy human, and I should know. I look after a sick human. All this, and your sudden obsessive desire to marry me, and you think you just came up with it all by yourself?!”  
   
She was a little surprised at that outburst. It wasn’t like her, even under great stress. Perhaps that was because she was used to Marjorie voicing her negativity for her, a troubling thought. It left her slightly out of breath and briefly concerned that the Toad really would just drop her in retaliation, deciding he could have Thumbelina without her.

But he didn’t. He just stood still for a moment, the upper hand that wore the ring shaking. “Enough,” he snapped, the smug cheer gone from his voice. “I can’t stay like this much longer anyway. Just because you’re a freak who likes being around humans doesn’t mean I’m going to risk my life wearing this form any more than I have to.” 

She slumped back down into his hand. He was starting to stalk off towards one of the gates, Marjorie and Basil disappearing behind her. If she could just make herself heard over that song, she might be able to snap them out of it.

What was it she’d read about magical hypnotism? If it was surface-level, it could be overpowered. She’d have to be louder than the harp, though she had no instrument. She only had her voice. And it was the duty of a princess of Thumbelina to use anything at her disposal for the sake of her people. The wise spider uses every strand of the web. All for the good of the kingdom.  
Sitting up as straight as she could without discomfort, she took a deep breath down to her diaphragm and began to sing. 

Philomene was not a good vocalist by her own estimation. She was required to sing along with hymns during ceremonies and would gleefully sing at festivals, but she was untrained and considered her own voice off-key. Nor was she particularly loud even by the standards of Flower Folk. Surely her chances of being heard over the roar of human crowds, the rumble of footsteps and the magical tones of the harp were almost nil. She was surprised she wasn’t falling under its spell herself, wondering if perhaps she wasn’t close enough. 

Nonetheless, sing she did. She sang in the lilting, trilling notes and complicated melody that made up Thumbelina’s anthem, the same song that opened every state ceremony and a notoriously difficult one. She held her arms out and sang, filling her lungs until she thought they might burst.

“…What are you doing?!” The Toad started running, then had to pause to catch his breath. So, Philomene thought, he didn’t have much stamina at all in human form. 

She ignored him, continuing to sing. She let the song fill her ears and drown out all noise, singing until passerby began to stare at Avery Toad and the strange, oddly realistic doll singing in his hands. She reached the end of the song and began it again, ignoring how easily she was tossed around in Avery’s hands as he half-ran, half-limped towards the Moonflower Gate. She thought she heard footsteps running up behind them, but could not see and wouldn’t let herself be distracted. She had to sing so Marjorie could hear her. Perhaps that would be enough. 

When it became too difficult to keep up with the words, she just sang the melody itself in a wordless, endless tune. Her mouth was dry and her throat burned. She was starting to feel lightheaded from sustaining that level of volume for so long, and her ears buzzed. All around her humans and human-size beings were gathering and staring at Avery and the strange little thing making so much noise. She felt him reel around and spin in panic at the gathering eyes. 

“What? Leave us-me alone!” He tried to muffle her with his hands, though she kept on singing. “What do you want from me? I’m just an ordinary-she’s just a toy! Get your own! Leave me be…!” He jerked to a halt at the crowds blocking his way from the gate, curious to see where such strange music was coming from, and Philomene felt his hands shake.

Then there was nothing below her, Avery’s human form vanishing as his hands shrank rapidly into webbed front feet. She plummeted, falling silent and staring upwards at the shocked, enormous faces around her. Before she could start hastily whispering the prayer to return her soul to the Great Vine, she landed on something soft, warm and padded. Gloves.

Basil was laying on his stomach, suggesting he’d made a dive to catch her. He stared down at her and then grinned triumphantly, his underside covered in dirt from the ground. “Prince Charming always makes stylish rescues, right…?”

Philomene sat up, only now noticing how absolutely sore she was from head to toe. The ordeal had been terrible for her back, and she still didn’t have her cane. She managed a shocked, but grateful smile up at Basil, then turned around to look up at the tear-filled eyes of Marjorie as the prince stood back up and held her up to her maidservant.

“Princess…!” Marjorie bit her fingernails and then bowed low. “I heard your voice. We both heard you singing and…I failed you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Falling for a trick like that isn’t like me, you know that…!”

Philomene shook her head and tried to say ‘it’s quite alright,’ but nothing came out. With relief came exhaustion and the realization that she had worn out her voice. 

“I’m going to show that harp-player what for,” Basil declared as he set a grateful Philomene in Marjorie’s pocket where she could rest. “As soon as I get some earmuffs, at least. But what happened? Who was that strange person? It almost looked like he turned into a…”

“Toad.” Marjorie scowled, wiping her tears away. “Should have known, somehow. I really should have predicted-well mostly I should have stayed closer to-say. Where is Ezra?” 

Philomene crawled out and pointed in the direction of the food stands. What she saw brought back her earlier dread, though there was nothing she could do to express it other than to slide back to the bottom of Marjorie’s pocket.

Ezra’s cart was still there, with customers helping themselves to his wares. Neither he nor the Gourmet were anywhere to be found. 

 


	21. Hymn of Fallen Stars

Ezra sold out most of his pastries and cookies within minutes this time, a line forming of people eager to try the ‘fancy Sky cuisine’ with a shining look in their eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, his head swam and his legs ached from hours and hours spent on his feet. His ‘bad’ leg in particular burned where the wolf had bitten him, though the wounds had long since scabbed over. How long had he worked the past few days? Had he slept at all? Had he remembered to actually eat something while preparing food for others?  
  
And yet it felt right. It wasn’t like the long hours he spent doing work Tooth would take credit for, the drudgery of preparing the same few, mediocre recipes over and over. Something suggested he was meant to feel this pain, that this was the price he was supposed to pay for something he needed and deserved.   
  
He understood Philomene’s concerns and trusted her, but this was something he couldn’t explain to her. How could he? That a Flowerling princess would care for the well-being of a Sky exile was touching, and he had to admit there was something a little odd about the Gourmet’s attentions when he thought about it too long. That was why he hoped his meeting with his mysterious patron would prove the Gourmet’s innocence to her as well.   
  
He could work to please the Gourmet and restore his family’s glory. He could work to unlock those secrets Philomene was so sure of and save the others, possibly earning the respect of dear Prince Basil in the process. Surely he could do all those things.  
  
“Ezra? Are you awake, my boy?”  
  
Ezra snapped to attention at the voice of the Gourmet himself, standing where the line had been. Flushing with embarrassment, the giant wondered if he had in fact fallen asleep on his feet right in the middle of a business venture. “I, um. Sir! Yes, I’m here. Sorry, one just sort of gets into a rhythm…”  
  
“It’s a sign of a hard worker. Would you do an old man a favor and have a seat? It’ll be good for your legs and my neck.” The Gourmet gestured down, indicating a rather clean and comfortable-looking spot on the grassy floor.  
  
Sitting on the ground cross-legged wasn’t the most dignified thing, but between Ezra’s bad leg and general weariness nothing could have sounded more appealing. The Gourmet, despite his obviously advanced age, kept standing without any sign of weakness.   
  
It was Ezra who spoke first. “Sir, I didn’t manage to make everything I wanted to. There were extenuating circumstances-that is to say, I was bitten by a wolf. No, wait.” He shook his head. “I won’t make excuses for myself.”  
  
“Make excuses for what? I can already see the improvement.” There was a calm, gentle smile on the older man’s face. “Without having even tasted it. I saw how the crust was a perfect golden brown, shining from an egg wash. Even the scent is different. You have improved, young Kettle!”   
“I…I have?” Ezra couldn’t hide his own smile, though he kept his head low out of respect.   
“Well, especially if you did all that practice after being bitten by a wolf! Tell me. Did something change? In your life, I mean.”  
“Not exactly, sir!” That wasn’t entirely true, Ezra knew, but he felt it wouldn’t be wise to talk about his promise to Philomene. She was being awfully quiet, but he imagined she was just observing carefully. “I suppose I’ve been in a better place.”  
“A better place?”  
“I mean, the Center of the Universe is still the heart of chaos for a reason. It’s vast and disorganized, full of monsters and beasts and all kinds of horrors. And weather,” Ezra added with a shudder. “But strange as it sounds, I’ve found a center there with people I trust. And I have your mentor-ship, so I know I can continue improving. I’m no one’s servant anymore. I’d gladly wear myself down working for people who care.”  
  
The Gourmet said nothing, merely nodding as if he expected Ezra to continue.  
  
“Well, I’m not sure what else to say,” Ezra said. “For the first time in my life I’m starting to feel content.”  
  
“Mmm.” The Gourmet’s smile slipped for just a fraction of a second, but even Ezra, bleary-eyed as he was, caught it.  
  
“Is…is that bad?”  
  
“No, of course not. You’re in the prime of your youth and it sounds as if your childhood was quite unpleasant. Contentment is a natural goal. But I cannot help but wonder.” Had the Gourmet always been sitting in a chair? Where had it come from? But it was there now, a fine wicker chair in the middle of the marketplace.   
  
A servant must have brought it without Ezra noticing. He was so tired, he wouldn’t put it past himself to miss something like that. Already the crowd around him felt more like a colored blur, with only the Gourmet in focus. It was just the two of them. Just two, right?  
  
“Is it natural, for a Sky child to be content on the land? You with the lineage of stars, with eyes gold as the Sun? Forgive me,” the Gourmet said with a little wave of his hand, “I may be overstepping my bounds. I’m merely a human, after all. I’ve studied the Sky as much as I have any other foreign land. A man blooms in worldly knowledge. I ramble in my old age…”  
  
Ezra bit his lip, suddenly acutely aware of the stars above them, gleaming as if glaring in contempt at their fallen brethren. “You know the Hymn of Origin?”  
  
“I know many hymns! There are variants, of course. On the other side of the world your kin sing of having been born exiled from a kingdom on the moon. But the theme remains consistent. Sky Folk, banished from celestial beauty, seek to create it with their own hands and spread it throughout the world. You reach upwards, forever praising the heavens through your creations. Songs, sculptures, fabrics, even your finest cuisine-in all of it one can find remnants of the beauty your ancestors knew. For instance.” The Gourmet held up a slice of cherry pie.   
  
Had Ezra handed him a slice? Had he even made cherry pie? Where had he gotten hold of cherries? He had to stop second-guessing himself. Of course he had. Where else would the Gourmet have gotten it?  
  
“When your customers taste your food, they only know the flavor and texture. Oh, and it is sweet and delicious. But there’s something else I can detect. I could not call myself a Gourmet without a trained tongue! And in it is the sorrow of a fallen lineage, the discomfort of one who knows he will never truly fit on the land-and I think you must be aware of it. You can find a niche there, perhaps, but never completely fit. You are born of sunlight and moonbeams, not earth and chaos like we are.” The Gourmet took a bite, savored it and swallowed it. “And underneath that, the faintest hint of…glory.”  
  
“I fit in just fine,” Ezra said quickly, stammering. “I mean, I have a house there where I fit. And my friends-I mean they also…”  
  
“Do not fit in? Naturally. The Exiled always seek other exiles, and can find in one another a shallow sense of belonging and solace. But it’s merely a salve, not a cure. You can find contentment there on the land, and eventually you may even stop staring up at the heavens with regret. You could make a good living here in the Market as a novelty, one of the few Sky Folk to sell your wares to the interested. But!”   
  
The Gourmet seemed to shine from within as he spoke, looking younger and stronger. His skin was vivid as rubies, his eyes clear and bright. “Some part of you would always grasp for more. You hunger, Ezra Kettle. You hunger for lost glory, and it gnaws at you in your exile. That’s what drives you to create wonderful things, isn’t it? The memory that your kin once fed kings. Jewels out of sugar, birds made of gelatin that danced at a touch…you could make those things, Ezra. With that desire. That is what you want, isn’t it?”   
  
As the Gourmet described the wonders of the Kettles, Ezra would see flashes of them flickering in his mind. There was his mother, painting with colored sugar on a marzipan canvas. There she was painstakingly filling pastries with rich, golden-egg cream. He saw himself standing in the corner, watching with the loving admiration and wonder he longed to see in others.   
  
Something was off. Ezra could feel himself slipping in and out of somewhere else. His hand idly went to his pocket; he felt a sense of mild discomfort to find it was empty, but couldn’t recall what he was supposed to have had in there in the first place. A watch? He didn’t own a watch. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m a little unwell tonight, I suspect. I should probably head back in a few minutes, sir…”  
  
“Of course.” The Gourmet smiled. “But first, wasn’t there something you were going to show me? Forgive me if I am incorrect, but I seem to remember…”  
  
“…Yes. Yes, there was.” Ezra rose as if on autopilot. He somehow knew he’d find something safely tucked inside the back of the cart, wrapped in cloth, and yet was still surprised himself to unwrap it and find a glimmering apple tart sized for a human. “Ah, I must be overtired! I barely remember making this. In fact…”  
  
“But you did. In your exhaustion your hunger took over, and through it you channeled your lineage.” The Gourmet took the tart in his hands and sniffed it. “It is exquisite. I will have to bring it back with me later. Unusual to find apples in spring, isn’t it?”  
  
“Quite,” Ezra agreed dully. How and when had he come across an apple?   
  
Yet when he thought back hard enough, he could remember working in a feverish pace the previous night, long after the others had gone to sleep. He’d promised he’d stop and get some rest himself at Marjorie’s insistence, but some part of him kept scratching at the back of his mind. Not enough, it wasn’t enough! He’d created nothing particularly special, nothing spectacular. There was not a drop of magic in any of it. How could there have been? Philomene had to be mistaken after all, which would leave him worthless to the rest of them. He had to at least impress the Gourmet.  
  
The rest was a blur. He was flipping through the cookbook. Marjorie had left her bedroom door ajar for once. Something silver glinted out, and the recipe had mentioned a silver apple, a fruit he’d never heard of before…  
  
“…Oh!” Ezra covered his mouth, recoiling in dismay and shame and rising to his feet again. “Mr. Gourmet, I’m terribly sorry about this. But I think I’ve made a mistake. A terrible mistake. That-what I used wasn’t mine, it wasn’t my property…!”  
  
“Was it? Well, I’m sorry to hear that. A shame it would have been hidden from you, though. You, a baker…!” The Gourmet held the pastry aloft, and yet somehow Ezra couldn’t take it back. The Gourmet wrapped it in the cloth and kept it for himself.  
  
“Will I really keep…hungering like this? I mean not for food.” Ezra was hungry and finally starting to notice that, but it was easy to ignore. “But for…”  
  
“For what you want? Well, I’m not a soothsayer. I don’t know what goes on in the mind of another.” The Gourmet set a gentle hand on Ezra’s wrist. “But it’s possible you need a little more of a challenge. Come with me. Just for a little while. Maybe I can help you straighten this out! Figure out what you want. So you don’t cause any more harm to your friends. Not that I doubt they mean well, and it’s obvious you care for them very much. But don’t you see now? Contentment doesn’t suit you. Your subconscious knows what you refuse to admit. And chin up! Your ancestors wouldn’t want to see you torture yourself so.”  
  
His ancestors. The Kettles. Was he failing the Kettle line now, too? Ezra couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d wronged his friends terribly, that he’d made an awful mistake. Yet he had trouble remembering what it was. He was just so tired.  
  
“Don’t you worry. Your friends will understand. They’d not want you to suffer.” The Gourmet was already starting to lead him through the Market towards a different Moonflower Gate, this one decorate more elaborately with red and white stripes. “I’ll send word to them. We’ll get you some sleep and a good meal. And then, my boy, we shall get to work. I’ll teach you how to create masterpieces for those who truly understand them. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes,” Ezra echoed, barely aware of what he was saying. “That must be. That’s what I want…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more to come! I'm working on crossposting this in chunks, so stay tuned. Feel free to comment and let me know what you think in the meantime!


	22. And Then There Were Three, And Then Four

asil pulled his cloak tighter around him, pushing through the dwindling crowds back towards Marjorie. “I looked everywhere, my lady! No one I asked had seen an individual of Ezra’s size, nor a man who matched the description of this ‘Gourmet.’ Some of them just refused to say anything more when I mentioned his name. They turned away or abruptly called for the next customer, acting as if they hadn’t heard me.” His fingers ached beneath the gloves, numb with cold. Failure always gave him a chill.  
  
Marjorie was still looking after the exhausted Philomene, waiting near the Moonflower Gate they always used to return to the forest. “It’s alright, Basil. Though if they refuse to talk about the Gourmet, that means they have absolutely heard of him and have every reason to want to keep their mouths shut.” She crossed her arms. “I wonder what it is, then? Money? Protection? Something having to do with the unnamed owners of this place?” She’d reverted to an apparent state of calm, shrewd analysis, but Basil saw bags under her eyes and her hair bun was messy.  
  
“It just is not like him to leave his cart behind like that. And for it to happen on my watch, inexcusable…! What sort of Prince Charming allows someone who, who…” Basil felt warmth on his cheeks, burning and tingling in contrast to the creeping chill.   
  
“Someone who what?”  
  
“Nothing! But I mean, he was hurt protecting me once and I vowed to make it up to him, and now I have failed again thanks to the song of a treacherous harp player! And for it to happen just as the Toad tried to steal Philomene away from us, too-I cannot imagine this could be a coincidence.”  
  
Basil’s heart pounded in his chest, his eyes wandering across the vast crowds. “There is a conspiracy against us. We have enemies, my lady, lurking in the shadows, and they have threatened our companions!”   
  
And isn’t this what he’d wanted? An adventure with an enemy to defeat? Basil wondered why he wasn’t happier about that part. Prince Charming did not react to challenges with fear or apprehension, after all; Prince Charming had nothing to fear.  
  
“Basil! Calm down. Remember when you were calming me down earlier? All that about stress being counterproductive? Turn that around and use it on yourself.” Marjorie set a hand gently on Basil’s arm. “We need to gather our wits about us.”  
  
“Easy for you to say, now that the princess is safe and you have done your duty!” Basil blurted it and then immediately covered his mouth with a gloved hand, shivering. “Sorry, Lady Marjorie. That was absolutely uncalled for on my part. I guess I should take my own advice.”   
  
Marjorie’s expression drew to a thin line across her face for a few seconds. Nonetheless, she seemed to shake off Basil’s rudeness. “Yes, quite so. Are you cold? You’ve said it affects your moods when you’re cold.”  
  
“I am,” Basil confessed. “I wish I’d been able to bring Aurora here, but the troubles of bringing a bear into a marketplace would outweigh the benefits.” He huddled in his cloak, ashamed to be so afflicted when another was possibly in danger. “How is Her Highness?”  
  
“Philomene is resting.” Marjorie gestured towards the front pocket of her dress. “No sign of that awful Toad. Do you think Ezra and the Gourmet went through another one of the gates to this place?”  
  
Moonflower Market was ringed by a transparent barrier of sorts, with only darkness visible past the edge of the intangible dome. The surface of it felt like glass, but with more give. Circular gates dotted the surface of the barrier, each decorated differently. The one Basil was familiar with was covered with painted blue flowers. Basil had seen a number of other gates, but spotted no great figure entering one.  
  
“He must have,” Basil concluded, “as he’s not here. But that means I missed him. We missed him,” he corrected. “And he could be anywhere. The Moonflower Market is said to have hidden gates on the other side of the world, on isolated island chains, in the deserts, even in the heart of the Imperial Capital.” He glanced away. “I feel I should vow to search in all of those places. That would be the noble thing to do. But it would not be…”  
  
“Practical, not in the least. You want to save him. You know,” Marjorie added, “I am not sure that Prince Charming philosophy applies to everything in life. Possibly not this situation.”  
  
“It absolutely applies to this situation!” The warmth returned to Basil’s cheeks; he wished it would stay. “Someone is in distress! Someone true-hearted and noble, whatever other foibles he might have. And he-you said that he…”  
  
Marjorie stared, eyes going wide. “Basil, don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”  
  
“I can’t read people terribly well.” Basil scowled, crossing his arms. “I thought he pitied me, or looked down on me. If I was as big and strong as he and without a curse I…would not look down on anyone, I’d hope. But I didn’t know him as well until recently! And people ought to say what they mean!” He felt again he was coming across as childish and ought to stop. “I’ll explain it more later! It isn’t important right now.”  
  
Marjorie looked as if she were about to speak, but whatever she was about to say was interrupted by the thundering clanging of a massive, unseen bell. She mouthed a word Basil had forbidden himself from ever saying. “That was the warning bell. This place is closing up.”  
  
“They can’t make us leave! I’m going to find whatever sort of authority does run this place and demand they help us. There must be someone!” Basil tried to march towards the center of the marketplace, stopping short with a stumble when Marjorie grabbed his hood. “Hey!”   
  
“Basil!” Marjorie hissed. “We don’t know what sort of authority runs it. They might be associated with this Gourmet person, remember? I hate to say it, but we have to return to the forest and figure out how to proceed from here. We’re dealing with someone possibly more savvy and powerful than we are, either strong enough to force a giant to go with him or clever enough to trick Ezra into it. And Philomene seems to know something, but she needs to recover her voice first.”  
  
“I know.” Basil slumped. “But Prince Charming never runs from a rescue. Or at least there were never any stories about her not knowing what to do. Granted, she would also know if someone loved her…”  
  
“Liked, Basil. And I feel terrible about it too, but what can we do?” Marjorie huddled closer to Basil, speaking over the noise of carts wheeling away and merchants closing up shop. “Rumor has it if you stay past the second bell, you’re trapped forever. Just a rumor, sure, but it would do neither Ezra nor Thumbelina Kingdom any good for us to be trapped like that! So we just need to learn more about this Gourmet and-”  
  
“Excuse me.” The speaker was a new voice, male and adolescent. Basil turned to look at a gangly teenager with light skin and freckles carrying a harp on his back nearly as big as he was. He looked agitated, eyes darting back and forth and weight shifting between his legs. “Did you say the Gourmet?”  
  
Basil paused. He’d seen this boy before. He was sure of it. The face didn’t ring a bell, nor did the voice. But that harp…  
  
That harp.  
  
Marjorie made a gesture with a tilt of her head towards the harpist, and another towards the gate. Basil once again found himself frustrated and wishing people would just say what they meant, until he caught on.  
  
“Sorry about this, sir!” Basil grabbed the harpist’s arm with as much force as he could manage without possibly hurting the boy and dragged him through the gate to the Blue Forest.

* * *

  
“Ow! What’re you doing? Please let me go! I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll pay your money back! Just let me go!” The harpist was trying to pull away from Basil’s grip, managing to slide out soon after they’d tumbled out of the gate. Marjorie caught him from behind, leaning forward.  
  
“Now now, don’t go running off yet!” The expression on Marjorie’s face as she spoke was one he had not seen before. She was like a cat about to pounce on a bird, eyes narrowed and voice frighteningly sweet. “We have a few questions to ask you about that ridiculous harp of yours, and why exactly you were using it to hypnotize us while our friends were in danger. We just want to know what you know and then we’ll send you on your way. You wouldn’t want to try to flee the Blue Forest without an escort. These are unfamiliar woods, full of bears.”   
  
As if on cue, Aurora came lumbering lazily into the clearing and sat down next to Basil. Basil would never dream of ordering her to attack a human, but there was no need for the harpist to learn that yet. No ally of that vile Toad deserved to feel at ease in Basil’s woods.  
  
It would have been easier to intimidate the boy if he wasn’t so easily intimidated. Had he threatened violence Basil could challenge him or pull out his sword; had the harpist taken off running there would be a chase. Instead the boy started crying, a reaction that Basil had no idea how to handle. He felt the adrenaline drain right from him, leaving him rooted in place.  
  
“I don’t know what’s going on!” the boy sobbed. “I really don’t know what’s going on. I promise it! Nothing’s worked out the way it was supposed to. I was just playing a song! I didn’t know the crowd would do that. I don’t want to hurt anyone else…!”  
  
“Anyone else?” Basil took a step forward, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. “Um, there, there. Don’t go crying. We’re not bandits, I promise. I’m sorry we-oh dear, did I do something bandit-like just now? Villainous?” But he was doing it to help a friend! This was someone who knew about the Gourmet apparently, someone whose actions had resulted in Philomene’s near-capture. This was so confusing.  
  
Marjorie ignored him, the poison slipping from her voice. She stepped forward and gave the harpist a pat on the back. “Well, you should feel terrible. Magical hypnosis is nothing to play around with. Here.” She handed over a handkerchief, giving a secret look of exasperation back at Basil before switching back into a gentle, sisterly mode. “Now let’s try this again, more coherently this time. We’ll start with your name.”  
  
“Jack,” the boy mumbled, wiping his entire face messily with the handkerchief. He couldn’t meet Basil’s gaze. “I’m not usually like this. I swear it.”  
  
Could it be? “Wait, Jack? As in Jack of the Sky? Jack the Giant Killer?” Basil saw Jack wince when he said that title. “That Jack.” In different circumstances, before he’d met Ezra, Basil would have shaken his hand and demanded a chance to spar with him. Even now it was hard to conflate the rumored image of a towering, strapping warrior with the knobbly figure in front of him. How had Jack defeated someone who had terrorized Ezra?  
  
“Jack Nimble’ll do.” Jack stared down at his feet. “I didn’t mean to steal anything, or play a magical song, or hurt anyone. I swear it. Things keep happening around me and I don’t understand them. I keep making decisions that don’t turn out the way I meant, that’s all.” He rubbed his reddened, calloused elbows. “I heard this voice singing a song I didn’t recognize, and it threw off my rhythm for just a second. When I did that I saw everyone’s faces, all glassy-eyed and vacant like they had too much cider. They were staring at me, not like an audience. You were one of ‘em.” He pointed at Basil. “So I stopped the song and packed up, but I started getting his sense of awful dread. Like I wanted to hear the song again, forever and ever. And I overheard you mention the Gourmet…”  
  
“Then you’ll help us, won’t you?” Basil still felt a bit like a heel for acting rashly, particularly if Jack was approaching them in good faith, and thus tried to banish any accusatory tone from his voice. “It’s nearly dawn. We’re all exhausted. Come back to my grandmothers’ house and tell us your side of the story.”  
  
“I promise we’re not kidnapping you,” Marjorie added. Basil shot her a glare.  
  
Jack hesitated, staring for a second over his shoulder at the harp on his back. “What if someone’s watching me or following me? That Gourmet, I think he’s got some kind of hook in my brain. I don’t feel right…”  
  
Basil puffed his chest out, projecting his heroic voice despite his worries. “You have the protection of Prince Basil of Sethwhile, guardian of the Blue Forest, and his noble steed. And we’ll be going to the safest place in the forest.” He held out his hand. “Come with us and we’ll try to turn this around. For Ezra’s sake!”  
  
Jack’s pale blue eyes widened. “Did you say Ezra?!” He hesitated before taking Basil’s hand, at which point Basil helped him climb onto Aurora’s back. “How do you have a bear, anyway?”  
  
“Yes, there we go! Let’s all just talk this out, preferably over breakfast. Sleep is for the afternoon, after we have a plan.” Marjorie stretched, yawning. “Oh, and if you are in fact a plant sent to disrupt us or cause further harm to Her Highness, I will feed you to the big wolf around here.”  
  
The color drained from Jack’s face, while Basil just shot Marjorie another look. 


	23. Vacant Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still crossposting, and I'm gonna say this is the start of one of my favorite arcs. Hope you enjoy!

Ezra found himself standing in front of a great red door with gilded edges, the surface glittering in the lamp light.   
  
But that wasn’t right. He’d slept, hadn’t he? He felt as if he had.  
  
He rubbed his temples, trying to recall the past hour or so. He had slept; he could remember waking up on a bed far more comfortable than he was used to, yet firm enough to support his back. How long had it been since he’d slept in a bed, instead of sitting up on a chair in the kitchen?   
  
There had been breakfast waiting for him on a tray, though no servant in sight. It was some kind of smoked fish with toast and soft cheese, served on a simple wooden tray sized for him. Everything was sized properly for once, not too big like the cottage furniture nor too small like everything else in the Center of the Universe. After spending so much time there he’d found comfortable scale disorienting. He’d wondered for a few seconds if the past few weeks had all been some kind of dream. But Hamilton Tooth wouldn’t have granted him a comfortable bed and certainly wouldn’t give him anything as luxurious as fish, even on the Festival of the Nine Stars when masters of a household were expected to give the servants gifts.   
  
(Ezra had decided that for such a rare delicacy, smoked fish was terribly salty. What did the rich folk see in it?)  
  
Then he had risen with an awareness that the pain in his leg had eased considerably, walked into a separate room with a wash basin full of blissfully warm water. He’d wanted to linger in it, a salve after weeks and weeks of trudging down to the river to wash in ice-cold water. But some instinct inside of him told him there was no time. He had an important task, a purpose in being here he could not lose for the sake of a hot bath. So he’d washed, quickly but thoroughly, and dressed himself in the red livery with gold buttons set there before him by the same unseen servant who must have brought his breakfast. His old clothes he left folded by his bed.  
  
And now here he stood in front of the bedroom door, fiddling with his buttons, glancing around the plainly-decorated room that was nonetheless more grand than anything he’d seen since early childhood. His family had been far too deep in debt to avoid soft sheets like that, or even red paint for the walls. He ran a hand over the surface of the door, finding it rough and grainy as if made of hard-packed sand.  
  
The buildings on Mielle were generally constructed of Thunderbrush Wood exported from agricultural Islands, though the governor and the wealthiest citizens lived in Great Ashwall dwellings that rooted directly into the clouds and grew over hundreds of years into living homes walled with smooth bark. He’d never encountered a material like what he was touching now in the Sky or on the land, too rough to be cut stone but clearly not brick or hard clay. No, he knew a material like this…what was it?  
  
“Wait. I’m procrastinating.” Ezra pushed his bangs back up out of his face with the help of the hat, part of the uniform. “And I’m talking to myself again. This is silly! I just had a little bit of a blackout. Wouldn’t be the first time. I’m here because…this is…”  
  
The door opened, and as the Gourmet looked up at him with a relaxed smile, Ezra remembered the previous night.  
  
“…Sir.” Ezra stepped back, offering a hasty bow. “Is this-did you provide all this for me? You had a room that fit me? I mean, thank you…”  
  
The Gourmet chuckled, leaning against the doorway, his casual body language clashing with the formal suit he now wore. His hat still hid most of his face. Odd that it was being worn indoors. “I’ve had people from the Sky work for me before, young Kettle. I wouldn’t have you come here of your own free will only to squeeze you into uncomfortable quarters or leave you in your tattered work clothes. Speaking of, how’s the uniform?”  
  
“It’s a smart look,” Ezra said truthfully. “Though I admit the fit is…” He held up a sleeve that hung a bit over his hand, and then looked down at his tightly-buttoned midsection. “I think the previous wearer was both taller and a bit thinner. It’s fine, though! My old master never gave me anything nice to wear. He would just toss me anything that had grown too worn to look respectable and leave it to me to make adjustments for it.” He paused. “I’m sorry. That just slipped out. I’m not usually this talkative…”  
  
The Gourmet smiled and shook his head. “I’ll have my seamstress alter your uniforms for your measurements. You mustn’t apologize for being grateful. Or for disparaging a man who denied your true talent and left you with scraps, real and metaphorical. You’ve come here to learn, yes?”  
  
Though it was spoken as a question, it sounded more like the truest assertion of fact Ezra had ever heard. “Yes. I came here to learn.” It shone like a beacon in a mind thick and cloudy with uncertainty. There was something he was forgetting, something important. He had to latch on to what little he knew to be true.  
  
“And it looks like the sleep and the food has already done you a world of good! Thrive as you might in tension and labor, I can’t have you going without food and rest. S’bad for the brain.” The Gourmet tapped the side of his head with one bony finger and started walking down a hall lit with red glass lamps, gesturing for Ezra to follow. “And I need that brain focused on the task at hand! But first a tour, a tour!”   
  
The walls here were the same red and appeared to be made of the same mysterious material. Ezra, acutely aware of his own size again as he dwarfed the Gourmet, ducked instinctively but found the ceiling high enough that he could walk safely upright. The hallway was lined with doors, most of them scaled for humans. One or two were big enough for Sky Folk, and where one door would have been there was a network of tiny doors and stairways which must have been intended for Flower Folk. Were these all quarters for students? How many did the Gourmet have?   
  
The Gourmet turned to face Ezra as they reached the end of the hall, clasping his hands behind him. “Welcome to the Vacant Palace.”  
  
He stood in front of a massive grand hall. Long stairways curled up from a lower level, glittering white. Three levels of walkways wide and sturdy enough for someone twice Ezra’s size ran cross-cross above the lower level, where a uniformed figure was hunched over a grand piano made of transparent red glass and playing a gentle, rather repetitive piece. Servants wearing the same garb Ezra wore rushed back and forth, some carrying boxes of shining fabric, others with crates of eggs or buckets of paint. Most were humans, though Ezra spotted the occasional centaur and swore he saw a humanoid shape swimming through an aquarium that took up one entire wall. There were floors above and below the walkway where they now stood, once which hugged the walls of the building.   
  
Everywhere he saw treasures on marble pedestals: here a vase behind glass, there a jade sculpture of a dragon’s egg in timid mid-hatch. It was all so delicate and pristine, despite the crowds.   
  
Ezra realized the Gourmet would probably want a response behind his staring slack-jawed, and he cleared his throat. “Sir, it is…”  
  
“Not vacant, eh?” The Gourmet laughed with a desert-dry wheeze.   
  
“No. This is the most of anything I’ve ever seen in one place,” Ezra confessed. He blushed; it made him feel uncultured to admit it. “It’s like all the plant life in the forest, except…”  
  
“Orderly. Better. Forests are chaos! Everything growing freely wherever it wants, things eating things and growing in the corpses of things, who needs it? But as to why I call it the Vacant Palace, that is a little hard to explain.” The Gourmet turned abruptly to the left and started walking; the servants parted way for him immediately, not a single one of them turning to stare at Ezra. In fact, they barely seemed to see him.   
  
They must be very engaged in their work, he thought, though something felt wrong about it. Then he shook that feeling off. As much as he hated being gawked at or whispered about, he ought to be thrilled to blend in for once.  
  
The Gourmet continued as they passed by two servants carrying a hollowed-out roc egg intricately decorated with a stylized swan. “It was very, very vacant when I first found it. Smaller, too. A humble little thing, more of a cottage than a palace. I saw what it could be and expanded it over time, filling it with beautiful, rare things. Not mere luxuries, but treasures which can be protected and saved here. Treasures which would have crumbled and fallen apart out there in the world, or gone neglected and unappreciated. I sought out people whose talents and imagination could create more treasures, and I brought them here to nurture them. Like yourself!”   
  
Ezra looked down at the fine scarlet carpet, soft and luxurious under his boots despite the number of feet treading on it. The Gourmet treasured him? What was it like to be treasured? He felt he knew, but something told him it wasn’t the same.   
  
“So I suppose it’s a bit of a white lie calling it a Vacant Palace. But think of it this way,” the Gourmet said. “Do you know what it was that drove me to do all this, that gave me the strength to nurture a humble little home barely more valuable than a square of gingerbread into this?” He held up his arms, gesturing at everything around him, and then spun around to look up at Ezra with a wild, joyous look in his black eyes.  
  
“Hunger. The sense of something missing. An empty void to be filled, a place where something could be but is not.” As the Gourmet spoke, everything around him seemed to lose a shade of luster. The places where there were no treasures on pedestals or behind glass suddenly became all the more obvious. “Were I to stop and say I was content with what I had, were that hunger to die, I would certainly be happy enough. But I would be lying to myself. I would always know in the back of my mind all the glories I was missing out on, all the flavors I would never taste, all the symphonies I would never hear and all the treasures I would never own. The void is always in me, and it always calls to be filled. That is how it is when something has been torn from you…”  
  
The old man seemed to lose the crackling energy from it, growing suddenly distant and sullen. He snapped out of it right away, and as he did everything around Ezra regained its previous splendor as if it had never left.   
  
“But now I’m the one who rambles. You know hunger quite well, being a baker and all as well as one who had the sky stolen from you. I should lead you to the kitchen!” The Gourmet’s toothy smile returned as he bustled down the walkway towards a set of double doors.  
  
As Ezra followed, still stunned into silence and carefully navigating the crowds marching back and forth so as not to hurt anyone, he found himself stopping down a branching hallway. This one, unlike the others, was unlit save for one flickering yellow lamp at the end. He could have sworn he saw a silhouette at the end, a figure who would have been around his height, the lamplight briefly highlighting white hair and a pair of yellow eyes. A second flicker and the figure was gone, as if it had never been there.  
  
He disliked that hallway; it was uncertain and unpleasant, completely out of place with the splendor and order around him. It repulsed him, and yet he felt an urge to break into a run down it. It wasn’t merely the chance to speak to fellow kin for once, but a sense that he’d find something he was missing down that way.   
  
“Something wrong, Mr. Kettle?” The tiniest sliver of irritation slipped into the Gourmet’s gentle voice.   
  
Ezra snapped his head forward and stood at attention. What could he have been thinking? The unknown had brought him pain. He was here to find familiarity and do what was to be done. Yes, that was what had been torn from him. It was his sense of purpose and place in the world. The Gourmet wouldn’t offer it if he hadn’t hungered for it.   
  
He stole another glance at the hallway as he passed and saw only a bare wall. He made a note not to let the Gourmet know that his mind was still playing tricks on him, lest he be deemed unfit for work.  
  
The doors opened up to a massive kitchen with multiple stations, the cooks working diligently without a single one looking up to greet the newcomers. There were remarkably few cooks in the kitchen, a few assistants and several Ezra could recognize as chefs. The air was filled with the smells of anise, orange, ginger and spices Ezra couldn’t even recognize. He was led past a tray brimming with rare fruits: blue apples from the Sky, something dark brown and covered with spines, berries of every color and the biggest strawberries he had ever seen. He could just imagine the pie he could make with those. Basil would be tempted to eat the whole thing by himself.  
Basil?   
  
The name was gone as soon as he’d thought it, leaving him with what felt like a gaping hole in his mind. Ezra felt an agitation overcome him from the inside out, the droning piano music suddenly discordant and off-key and the kitchen layout a confusing labyrinth. This time he couldn’t hide his alarm in front of his new teacher. “Sir! Mr. Gourmet. Something is wrong. I just-something is missing…”  
  
The Gourmet turned around with a concerned frown, and then snapped his fingers. “Your recipes! You don’t have your cookbooks with you.”  
  
“…That’s right. The cookbooks. They’re back at my cabin.” Ezra felt it true the moment he said it. “How can I learn Kettle recipes without it?”  
  
“Never you worry about that. I’ll do my best to get ahold of them for you, but in the meantime I have collected a few rare recipes of my own.” The Gourmet led Ezra to a large, heavy book in the corner, clearly of Sky make. It was of roc-skin leather, its pages so clean and new-looking the giant felt guilty opening it. “I collect books too, you know,” the old man said. “I’m sure you’ll find something to challenge yourself.”   
  
“Thank you, sir. I’ll make you proud. A Kettle is meant to cook for the great, after all...!” Ezra opened up a random page, the script far clearer and easier to understand than it had been in his old tomes. He found an ink illustration of a splendidly iced cake, captioned Icing of Perfect Construction.


	24. The Tale of the Other Ones

Philomene sipped from a glass thimble of bitter willow bark tea chilled to room temperature and thought, I have lost my cane. She could stand without it and even walk for a little while unassisted on better days. Considering how tired and sore she was from her ordeal, she suspected today would not be a ‘better day.’ If she was lucky, it was still in poor Ezra’s pocket. If she wasn’t, it was in splinters on the ground of the Market.  
  
What a perfect way to cap off an utterly catastrophic misadventure on the part of Princess Philomene Marl Thumbelina, would-be savior of her kingdom and friends. Still, she managed to smile and hide her dispirited mood. “Your hospitality is quite appreciated,” she told the elderly, purple-skinned fairy woman who had provided the tea. “I feel better already.”   
  
She rested on a makeshift seat fashioned from a handkerchief in the middle of an oakwood table. Basil’s cluttered cottage was quite a change from the vast, sparse environment of Ezra’s kitchen. Herbs hung in bundles around tables crowded with books, colored glass bottles and blocks of wax. It was hot as a summer day inside, presumably for Basil’s comfort; never before had Philomene been more grateful for cold tea. Huge, iridescent beetles crawled on the walls and moths nearly as big as Melchior fluttered about despite the morning light streaming through the windows. One round, orange ladybug tried to shove itself into Philomene’s lap.  
  
“Willow bark tea always does the trick,” said Lavender, the taller and paler of the fairies. She wore shawls and paisley patterns more common in the northern mountain regions, while Violet apparently preferred flowing desert garb. Lavender gave Philomene a matronly smile before scowling down at the little beetle, poking it with a long-nailed finger. “Leave her Highness alone, Bell! Beg your pardon. Violet’s familiars are a little on edge with…that thing in here.” She nudged her head towards a great golden harp with a winged pattern sitting in the middle of the kitchen, somehow giving off the impression of being an unwanted guest. The insects deliberately avoided it.  
  
“You know, I’m halfway tempted to examine it myself while that Jack is still asleep. In case he’s planning on tricking us and playing another song again. Or dismantling it,” Marjorie said as she stirred a bowl of barley mush. “I was honestly in favor of leaving it outside, but…”  
  
“We can keep a better eye on it here. If it does anything magical, my grandmas will know. Same with if he pulls anything,” Basil insisted. He was on his feet, pacing maddeningly back and forth and adding to the claustrophobic feel. Philomene felt grateful for once that her size left any human habitation feeling a bit cavernous no matter how crowded.  
  
Philomene bit her lip as she allowed the ladybug into her lap. It snuggled into the folds in her dress. “I am…sorry. This was my idea, and it proved to be a terrible one. I wanted to observe the secrets of the Market with my own eyes, in case we found a clue to our dilemmas there. I also wanted to protect our new friend. It seems I’ve failed at doing either one.” She bowed her head.  
  
“You most certainly have not!” Marjorie set her hands on her hips and huffed. “I mean, as worried as I was about letting you go to the Market, at least we had a witness for what happened with Ezra. And I’m sure we can make an excursion at a-a safer time! Later, when we’re not being kidnapped and all…” Her smile was a little strained.   
  
“It’s fine, Marjorie. If I’m not allowed to blame myself from time to time out loud, I’ll develop a complex.” Philomene smiled weakly. “Besides, I’ve started to think it was egotistical of me, assuming I could save everyone with nothing but knowledge and the sciences. I know there have to be answers out there. Every curse can be broken, every puzzle solved, with enough time and effort. That’s the philosophy I was raised under. We Flower Folk have to believe that in a world so full of threats and dangers. But I’m starting to think that applying it to everything is a bit foolish…”  
  
“Hmmm.” That was Violet, the less talkative of the two fairies, stepping up to the table before Marjorie could argue back. The orange ladybug flew onto the back of her hand. “The Principle of the Ant, if I recall, named for how ants live as gatherers, leaf-cutters, aphid farmers, even living storage units. They find the necessary solution for their own survival and take it.” At Philomene’s surprised expression, she laughed. “You know they do print copies of the Principles of the Great Vine big enough for others to read too, right?”   
  
“Oh, that’s right!” Philomene had heard of Flowerling priests and monks dictating their beliefs to human and even a few Sky scholars in order to spread their philosophies.   
  
“Do you hold to it because it is infallible, like a law of the universe or a sacred edict?” Violet spoke in the strong, commanding voice of a teacher, bringing to mind memories of tutors in the royal archives.   
  
“Oh, no. None of the Principles are laws the way, oh, gravity is a law when unaffected by magic. And they’re not our religion. They’re guides.” Philomene was unsure what any of this had to do with her worries, but she felt it was her duty to educate foreigners about the nature of the Principles. “They’re methods of survival. So for one to be proven wrong wouldn’t be a heresy. But if the Principle of the Ant fails us here of all times…except, maybe it hasn’t failed. Perhaps I’m just giving up on it too easily. The moment I hit an impasse I start moping about my own failures instead of taking action, and surely that must be worse than an unsuccessful experiment!”   
  
“And we’ve just got to try something else using what we have at our disposal! Principle of the Spider’s Web,” Marjorie piped up. “There’s the princess I know and love! Although are you still completely sure you’re alright? You aren’t the lone savior of Thumbelina or Ezra, remember. We’re all quite deep into this together at this point.”  
  
Philomene nodded. “Still a bit shaken, and I’ll need a new cane. But thank you. I needed to hear that.”  
  
Basil, who seemed to show only intermittent interest in the philosophical discussion, spun around to rejoin the conversation at this point with excitement in his voice. “And I’ll save Ezra! I mean, we will. And your kingdom! That’s the Principle of Princes, or it should be. Just like I saved you, remember?”  
  
While Basil’s reminder could have been taken for a boast, Philomene could only chuckle in response. “That was very noble of you, Basil, and I thank you. When we do restore Thumbelina I’ll have them record the Principle of Princes in your honor.”   
  
“You would?!” Basil turned absolutely scarlet, and then coughed into his fist. “I mean, first things first. Tell us everything that happened while you were in that foul Toad’s grasp.”  
  
As Lavender took the empty tea thimble and replaced it with one filled with water, Philomene took a deep breath, hoped her sore vocal chords would hold out and told her story. She recalled everything Avery Toad had said about the Gourmet and the Green Witch, Ezra’s fragile state and the Toad’s own transformation. “If the Green Witch really gave him that ring,” she added, “my theory about transformation and hearth magic working as a counter to green magic might be incorrect. Then again, she may not be the one who made it. It could be an old artifact.”  
  
“Oh, Ezra would overwork himself into a trance, wouldn’t he?” Marjorie ran a hand through her hair. “I was hoping he’d learn to relax a little around someone like me. Though he did seem terribly out of it this past week. I assumed it was stress; he hasn’t taken well to the adjustment of living down here. Do you think this Gourmet stole Ezra away for the whole cooking magic thing? Except he hasn’t mastered it yet.”  
  
“Or even come close,” Basil added. “He did quite a bit of test-baking that week, allowing me to try the results. It was all delicious but not in the least bit magical as far as I could tell.”  
  
“So that’s why you skipped supper a few times.” Lavender shook her head and Basil rubbed the back of his neck.   
  
“I really should have noticed something was wrong, though. Now I fear I might have been exploiting a cursed man,” the prince added in a softer voice. “For cupcakes. Really, I should have noticed all kinds of things…” He stopped and shook his head. “At any rate. What was it the Toad called the Gourmet and the Green Witch?”  
  
“The Other Ones. That’s all he would call them,” Philomene said. “It sounded like some kind of code name to me.”  
  
Violet stepped forward, her expression grim. “The true name for them is something that can’t be spoken in any language but the Fae Tongue. Other Ones is as close as we can get. We feared it might be them from what you told us when you arrived…”  
  
“We wondered about it after the wolf talked about a ‘Mushroom Hag,’” Lavender added with clasped hands. “But she might have just been trying to describe someone by smell as wolves are apt to do. This confirms our fears.”  
  
“Wait.” Basil stepped back and stared at his godmothers. “You knew about these people? That they might have been around?! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have stopped this before it happened!”  
“No, you couldn’t have. You would have rushed into a situation you did not understand, and we would have lost you.” Lavender stepped forward this time, jabbing a finger at Basil. “The Other Ones are stronger than us, so much so that we can’t detect their presence. They could literally devour us.”  
  
“Devour you?” Basil quailed, then seemed to recover his resolve. “But that’s all the more reason for me to strike first! That way I could protect you-”  
  
Violet didn’t let him finish, speaking firmly. “We are your protectors, Prince Basil. That’s our vow. Now let us tell you about the Other Ones, and you may judge us for it after if you wish.”  
This seemed to throw off Basil, who sat back down at the table silent and sullen. Philomene looked back up at the elder fairies as Violet began to speak.  
  
“The Other Ones were once one entity on the Fae Plane, the fairy dimension that overlaps this one. Here we assume physical forms to interact with a physical world; there, we are pure magical energy. The Entity was the most powerful fairy ever to have existed, a being whose nature it was to constantly increase in power and size until they dwarfed even the Fairy Queen. Wise and kind as they were, theirs was a wretched existence, one marked by loneliness until one day they begged the Fairy Queen to grant them mercy and split them apart so they would no longer be alone. The Queen warned the Entity that they would regret this decision but relented in the end, using Her power to tear the Entity asunder into six pieces.   
  
The six pieces all held a fraction of the Entity’s consciousness, their mind and their heart, but only a fraction. The Entity, lonely as they had been, was complete and stable. The pieces were not complete fairies themselves; while even one of them was still as powerful as twenty of we ordinary fairies, they all lacked something. They knew it; it left them uneasy and then angry. Because they were incomplete, they grew jealous and greedy, fearful and ambitious, vengeful and despairing. All fairies are just as capable of negative emotions as mortals are, but if we let them consume us they change our very natures. Their own negativity literally poisoned them until they became nothing but the emotion they embodied, vaguely conscious they had once been something greater and all the more furious for it.  
  
At this point they were spreading their wickedness through the Fae Plane, whispering rumors that turned fairy against fairy and starting battles that served no point but show off their own power. When one of them consumed one of the Fairy Queen’s own children, She mourned so deeply that storms raged across the Fae Plane and stars burned out. Then She banished them to the physical realm, cutting off all ties to the Fae Plane. This was a death sentence; a fairy cut off from the Plane or any other source of magic will wither and die.  
  
But as we said, they were no longer fairies but Other Ones, something else never seen before. We heard rumors that they’d found ways to take root here and feed. The Green Witch being one of them is a surprise; we had heard about the troubles in Thumbelina, and indeed some of our friends are engaged there trying to deal with her curse to no avail. But like you, we thought hers was the work of a genuinely powerful witch. They’re too strong for us to sense and have changed too much for us to understand. We only know that they feed off their chosen negative emotion, and if what Toad says is correct, they can control affected subjects. They will feed on mortal victims until there is nothing left but a shell.”  
  
There was a heavy silence hanging over the room as Violet finished her tale, Basil tracing a line on the table and not making eye contact with anyone. Philomene’s mind was racing with new information, so overwhelmed she wasn’t sure which question to ask first.   
  
“Can they be killed?”   
  
That was an unfamiliar voice. Philomene turned to see a younger human with freckles standing in the doorway of Basil’s bedroom, eyes reddened and downcast. That was right; Marjorie had said the harpist had been a young boy and had come willingly.  
  
“I killed a giant once,” Jack said. “By accident, though everyone I met acts like I did a great thing. I didn’t want to kill anyone, I just meant to pay Ezra back. But we were starving, and…” He trailed off. “I still don’t…but I feel like this is my fault, somehow.”  
  
“Fairies in our dimension affix their magical essence to one thing,” Philomene explained, going off of lore more than personal experience. She left the question of fault unanswered. “It might be an object, an unintelligent living thing or even an entire location if they’re powerful enough. And they need to be near a source of magic. But the Other Ones…”  
  
“Probably work the same way,” Lavender said. “But you can’t kill us the way mortals can die. All you can do is against a fairy is seal them, and we don’t know how to seal one of the Other Ones. I’m sorry,” she added gently.  
  
Basil was avoiding all eye contact, slumped over on the table. “So the reason you didn’t tell me is because you think we can’t beat them. You can’t. None of us is a magician, and the only one who might be able to use magic is the person we need to save. Prince Charming would charge in anyway…”  
  
Violet set a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me. What would Prince Basil, Princess Philomene and Marjorie do? What would Jack do? You’re mortals, which means you might see things we miss.”  
  
“Save a friend,” Philomene said quietly. “And worry about the rest later. One step at a time.”   
  
“Jack, darling,” Marjorie said. “Tell us everything you know about the Gourmet. Because what Marjorie would do with that is formulate the perfect plan to infiltrate him, and you’re our best chance to find him. And if it ends up being a trick, we feed you to the bear.”  
  
Jack stared in horror, unsure if Marjorie was serious. “I’ll tell you anything! He’s a bigwig there, a rich man, and everyone at the Market holds his opinion in high accord. He has a home in some secluded place and he invites people there on the Spring Equinox. He only lets people in if they bring him some kind of rare, treasured gift. He wanted me to play harp at the party. I don’t know why, I’m not that good and I don’t have magic.”   
  
“Spring Equinox, huh. That’s in a couple of days.” Marjorie was back on her feet again, expression thoughtful. “Then we’ll attend that party. Jack as the harpist, Basil as…we’ll figure that part out, Philomene in my pockets and I’ll handle the gift.”   
  
Philomene frowned. “Will Ezra be alright if we have to wait until then? But I suppose we have no other way to find the Gourmet’s home if Jack doesn’t know where it is…”  
  
“We ought to head back to Ezra’s cottage for now,” Marjorie said. “Perhaps we can find further evidence of what’s happened to him there so we know what to expect. And he’s got that cookbook of his, hasn’t he? And there’s, erm, something else I want to check on,” she added quickly.   
  
“I’ll accompany you.” Basil rose to his feet again. “And you, Harpist! I don’t want to let you out of my sight in the presence of my grandmothers! Tell us the story along the way. Don’t leave anything out!”  
  
Jack bit his lip. “Alright, but I’m trying to tell you! I’m not-I mean I don’t want to work for him anymore!”  
  
“I know, I know. I believe you,” Basil said, slipping on his fur cloak. “But forgive me for being a little paranoid today. I’m just tired of surprises!”

* * *

  
“I really am sorry about the loss of the giant,” the Rot Witch said with a smile. It was an obvious lie; even Toad could tell, sitting on her shoulder as she spoke to the looming Mother Wolf. “But once my brother has claimed something he just can’t let it go. Were I to try to pry the giant out of his hands just so you and your pups could eat him it would bring too much trouble upon my poor old head.”  
  
The wolf growled low and snorted. “Fine. If I can’t eat giant flesh, what do you need me to do? You wanted the prince’s heart, right?”  
  
“Intact. The rest of him is optional.” The Rot Witch pointed a finger down a faint path through the forest. “I can tell you just where you’ll find him. Oh, and one more thing.” Her tiny black eyes narrowed and her mouth stretched across her entire face in a ghoulish grin. “If you fail to bring me his heart tonight, I’ll use the hearts of your cubs for my purposes instead.”   
  
The Wolf growled and snapped at the Rot Witch, though not close enough to draw blood. She must have been able to smell just as well as the Toad could that eating her would be a bad idea. “You touch them and I’ll…!”  
  
“Do nothing! You’ve made a pact with me. You know I’m poisonous. He’s just one little human! Now go, before the sun is high in the sky!” The Rot Witch chuckled in an awful, hissing way as Mother Wolf ran off.  
  
The Toad blinked. “That seems unnecessary. What could you possibly want with a prince’s heart, or a wolf cub’s for that matter?”  
  
“None of your business on the former. And for the latter, nothing! Absolutely nothing. Scared the fur off her, though! However it turns out we’ll have quite a show, and I think it’ll work out in my favor. There’s no greater motivator, no stronger fuel than fear. And besides.” She ran a black tongue over the opening she called a mouth. “We all need to eat.”


	25. Curiosity Brought the Cat

  
_It is not enough to knead the dough. You must inflict upon it your fears and fury, use it as a scapegoat for all that pains you. Concentrate your wrath as you knead, let it seep into the bread._  
  
The recipe for Spiced Fury Bread would have sounded ridiculous to Ezra a few days ago. Did it matter how he felt while kneading dough? Yet in the past few hours he’d succeeded in making whipped cream strong as rope and frothy as sea foam and separated the yolks from basilisk eggs to make custard batter that glistened like teardrops. If the black book wasn’t a lost keepsake of Kettle recipes, it was close enough. How proud he was to finally take a step towards mastering that culinary “hearth magic.” He’d wanted to learn it in order to…  
  
In order to what? Impress the Gourmet, a voice reminded him, and it sounded right.  
  
He’d worked as if in a trance, untiring and ceaseless over what had to be at least a day, following orders passed on by stone-faced servants in the same uniform as him. Now he stood staring down at a ball of dough studded with cinnamon and anise, having hit a bit of an obstacle.   
  
He wasn’t angry.   
  
In fact, he couldn’t remember feeling more at peace with himself. Was he happy? He had to be, working hard like this and making the sorts of food his name and talents merited for someone who would appreciate them. He was part of an equally hard working staff, none of whom gave him stares for how he towered over them or cared when he occasionally bumped into them. The ceiling was high enough for his comfort, the kitchen pleasantly warm. The walls were tiled with what looked like red glass, remarkably clean considering how busy it was, and the air smelled of burning wood and ginger. If he wasn’t quite happy in a place like that, he at least was at ease.  
  
Thus, being at ease, he was in the worst possible mental state to make the recipe. Why hadn’t he read ahead to make sure he could pull it off? How embarrassing it would be to fail a recipe at this point. Never mind the part of him that thought over-kneading the dough would make it tough as a rock, when the bread described in the recipe was supposed to be spongy and light. Who was he to question an old recipe book?  
  
Channeling old memories of Hamilton Tooth didn’t help. They seemed so distant now, something no longer his problem. Even his exile from Mielle and the sham of a trial preceding it felt like more of an unfortunate setback, a necessary step in the journey that had led him here. What a fix, to fail at his dream job because he wasn’t unhappy enough!  
  
“There must be something,” he mumbled aloud, only then realizing it was the first time he’d spoken since the Gourmet had left him with the book. Perhaps he could channel that fear of failure into his work? He lifted the ball of dough and set it on the floured counter, trying to dwell on those thoughts before they drifted back into the fog that had taken part of his mind.  
  
Fog? Yes, there was a fog. The hole was still there, he was sure of it. Perhaps he was tired and needed to start again the next day. But the bread had to be made; it wouldn’t rise right if it wasn’t kneaded first. And it would have to be perfect for the person who ate it. Perfect, or he’d do his ancestors harm.  
  
And then, from that thick mist, a question emerged.  
  
“Say,” he said aloud to no one in particular or anyone who might know. “Who’s this for?”  
  
Most of the other chefs and cooks ignored him, though one human woman whose black hair had a slight green sheen to it looked up from the apple she was carving into a rose. “The Gourmet,” she said, with a shrug.  
  
“Yes, but what’s he doing with it? There’s so much food here. Who’s eating it? It can’t be all for him. He’d be big as the palace if he ate all this.”   
  
The woman just shook her head. “It doesn’t matter to us. We create beauty. He appreciates it.” She went back to her apple and tiny paring knife. Only then did Ezra notice bandages around her fingers.  
  
Looking away quickly, he went back to trying to knead the dough with whatever sort of fears and fury he could muster on the fly. _I’ve broken my own work flow_ , he scolded himself. _Over a question that doesn’t even matter…_  
  
Wait. That was silly. Of course it mattered where the food was going. “Do you think he’s selling it?” Ezra supposed if he phrased his questions as casual workplace conversation, it might sound less out of place. Not that he had any idea how banter between fellow employees usually went, as he worked for Tooth alone and wanted to avoid conversation with that man as often as possible.   
  
No one answered this time, though a few gave him dirty looks for interrupting. The scent of cinnamon seemed to weigh heavier in the air, and gradually the question was lost again in his own clouded thoughts. He needed clarity and ease, he reminded himself, something he’d only find through work. Yes, his destiny was here. Questions would only get in the way.  
  
“They can’t comprehend what you’re saying, you know.”  
  
Ezra dropped the dough on the counter and looked around for the source of the nasal, high-pitched voice. The rest of the mostly-human kitchen staff were ignoring him.   
  
“Up here, big fellow.”  
  
On command, Ezra looked up at the ceiling and saw something black and white slink along one of the glistening red rafters. “Ugh,” the cat said as she jumped down onto the counter, “I hate the feel of that stuff. It’s too slick for my paws.” She then proceeded to curl up onto the warm ball of dough.  
  
“What-SHOO! Shoo, cat!” Ezra flushed, his anger returning a few seconds late for the ruined dough. “You’ll get cat hair everywhere! I’m going to have to start all over. Why do they even allow cats here? Aren’t you supposed to hunt mice?” He reached for a nearby broom, lifting it, but stopped with wide eyes. “…And you can talk.”  
  
“Surely I’m not the first Enlightened Animal you’ve encountered before.” The cat started liking dough off of her paws, then shuddered and spit it out. “This is too bitter.”  
  
“Well of course, it’s bread dough! Or would be. Now it’s ruined.” Ezra slumped, lowering the broom and glancing at the others. “No one’s reacting? There’s a cat in the kitchen! Making a mess!”   
  
“Shh. No need to carry on. They’re not going to comprehend it. Watch.” The cat strolled over to a smaller counter built for a human, situating herself right on the shoulders of a young man who kept on mixing the contents of a bowl. “They’re too far gone, poor dears.”  
  
“Too far gone where? How?” Ezra felt dread seep into his bones as he took a better look at the others. Their gazes were unfocused, their skin sallow and pale. Without exception, they all had gray eyes. Some of them were going white prematurely.   
  
He stepped away from the counter, brandishing the tiny broom in front of him as if it were a weapon he could use to fight off this strange new development.   
  
“Relax.” The cat hopped off of her perch and climbed onto his arm, her claws digging through his sleeves indifferently. “When you started asking questions, you began disrupting the spell on you. It can’t answer every question, or won’t.”  
  
“Spell? I’m not under a spell.” Ezra wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “I work here now.”  
  
“Of course you’re not, and of course you do. What’s your name, Tubbs?”   
  
“Ezra Kettle. Certainly not ‘Tubbs,’” he added with a scowl. He opened his hand up and let the cat curl up in his palm, then held her closer to his chest. “No one cares that you’re wandering around here like this, interfering with our jobs?”  
  
“It isn’t that no one cares. It’s that the Gourmet has so much to worry about now, little details like me slip through. I’m one of his Treasures,” she said, erupting into a purr as she rested against Ezra’s chest. “Oh, you’re warm! I should seek out more giants. You’re akin to double-humans. The name’s Misty. Now, don’t quit asking questions if you don’t want to end up like those kitchen zombies!”  
  
Ezra gave a nervous look back and forth. “But, the Gourmet…” He felt like a traitor already, listen to someone speak lies about his new mentor.   
  
“He’s busy. Keeps muttering something about a harp. He gets itchy-tailed when he thinks he’s lost something.” Misty, having misunderstood Ezra’s worries, prodded him with her paw. “Make your way to the storage room. We can talk more there.”   
  
Trying to look as casual as possible and hoping guilt wouldn’t give him away, he covered Misty gently with his hand and took slow steps out of the kitchen. No one acknowledged him or even noticed. Nor did an older human gentleman care when the young giant backed into him, knocking him right over. The servant ignored Ezra’s apologies and attempts to help himself up, just getting back on his feet and continuing onward without making eye contact.  
  
They weren’t staring at him, Ezra realized, because they were ignoring him. They really were too focused. It was one thing not to stare at a Sky Exile out of politeness, but to completely disregard him was eerie.   
  
He could feel the fog encroaching on him again, little whispers telling him not to worry about it. Didn’t he want to avoid stares? Didn’t he hate negative attention? Yet as soothing as it was, something about it felt suffocating this time. He couldn’t shake the images of dull eyes and bandaged fingers out of his vision.   
  
Questions, then. “What sort of spell is this?”  
  
“It’s the wormy sort of spell that wriggles into your brain. If it finds something delicious, it sets up shop and has all sorts of little wormy spell babies that take over your mind. It’s really just a matter of time until I lose you to it again. But it’s nice to have someone else to talk to in the meantime.”  
   
Ezra frowned, slipping into one of the vast storage closets and settling down on a crate labeled in a language he couldn’t read. He let the cat settle in his palm again. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have let myself fall under a spell. I’d like to think I’m sharper than that.” Questions, right. He had to keep asking questions to stay lucid, provided he wasn’t dreaming this. “How do I break the spell?”  
  
“I have no idea. Maybe if you can fight off the memory consumption, you can give yourself enough time to figure it out. There’s only one other person who’s done it, and a fat lot of good that’s done her.” Misty blinked yellow eyes. “Come to think of it, she’s from the Sky too.”   
  
“What?!” Ezra thought back to the dark hallway and the tall figure, barely visible in the lamplight. “Why didn’t you mention that sooner?!”  
  
“If I just tell you everything you won’t ask questions! And the spell hates curiosity. How do you think I’ve managed to stay as aware as I am? Cats are naturally curious.” Misty curled her tail around her paws, sitting up like a cat statue. “Even I’m under it right now. I know there’s something important I’ve forgotten, and anytime I consider leaving a little voice tells me it’s all the worse out there. And who will keep the mice from nibbling?”  
  
“Something important…” Ezra’s gaze wandered to the stacks upon stacks of crates and nondescript bags. So much food gathered in one place, and for what reason? “Yes, there is something I’ve lost, too. It’s like a hole torn out of me. It felt a bit as if I was filling it when I was cooking in there, but I still sensed it. Like covering a lumpy cake with smooth icing.” But he didn’t want to think the Gourmet had done something to him. He had been so kind, and presented Ezra with such wonders! There had to be another explanation.   
  
“Where is this other Sky person?” he asked.   
  
“She hides during the day. Impressive, considering she’s so much bigger than I am. Or maybe the Gourmet has forgotten about her. You can only keep track of so many treasures at a time. That’s why cats don’t care about owning things we can’t sit on or eat.” Misty held her nose proudly in the air. “I can try to find her if you’re willing to sneak out tonight.”   
  
Ezra paled. “Sneak out? After lights out? That’s against the rules.” He hadn’t read any rules, but had an innate sense of what they were.   
  
“Thaaat’s against the rruuuuules.” Misty imitated him in a false baritone and hissed. “If you’re going to worry about ‘rules,’ you may as well go back into the kitchen and happily bake until you drop dead. You want to know where the food you’re making is going, right?”  
  
“It would be nice,” Ezra admitted. “And I haven’t seen kin in a long time. Spell or no spell.”  
  
“Then wait until lights out, stay awake and wait for me to signal you. I’ll lead you to her. In the meantime, go back to work and act like nothing’s changed, but don’t let the spell eat your brains again. Every time you start to feel yourself drift, ask a question. You don’t even need to speak it aloud. Just wondering things you don’t know the answer to is enough. Just! Stay! Curious!” She swiped three times at the palm of his hand with her claws, drawing blood.  
  
“OW!” Ezra withdrew his hand as the cat jumped back down onto his lap, staring at the tiny stinging cuts. “Whatever was that for?!”  
  
“So you don’t forget, Big Ezra. You’ll need it.” The cat sauntered off into the darkness.

* * *

While the time before he’d encountered that silly little cat seemed to fly by, the hours after dragged. He’d had to give up entirely on the bread, and as he flipped through the cookbook looking for a more suitable recipe his hand throbbed. He’d wrapped the scratches in a clean strip of cloth. The ease with which he’d read the recipes earlier was gone; they appeared increasingly dense and incomprehensible. Had the cat tricked him? Had she spoken of spells while casting one on him, using his faltering loyalty to take advantage of him?   
  
Yet all the while he was overcome with a sense of agitation, as if he were being held underwater and the surface was inches away. He couldn’t let that fog creep further over him. The idea of forgetting his strange encounter terrified him. So all the while, as he struggled to perfect a meringue made while humming a song, he kept asking himself questions. He explored the sort of ideas he thought he should not question, for fear that nothing good would come of it.  
  
_Where does the Moon disappear to at Moonflower Market, anyway? Why would a place named for the Moon itself hide from Her? Is it really true that the Sky Islands are full of tiny little creatures swimming around inside, or are the Vox researchers just as silly as they seem? Am I really learning Hearth Magic, or just performing tasks in the right way? What’s the unifying factor here? I’m just channeling thoughts and emotions while I cook. That can’t be all of it, can it? Could anyone do this? Is it me the Gourmet treasures, or just the things I’m making? And really, where are they going? Should I really be trusting a talking cat? Far be it from me to hold prejudices, but the last Enlightened Animal I encountered tried to bite my leg off. Wait, no. It was the prince she wanted._

_The prince? What prince?_  
  
He thought in circles like that until a bell sounded through the kitchen, and the staff finished washing dishes and cleaning counters only to shuffle in a single file back to their rooms. Ezra followed, wondering if they were all as exhausted as he was or if he’d merely worn himself out with work and stress.   
  
Shutting the door to his room behind him, he collapsed against it and slumped onto the soft rug. Someone had made the bed in the meantime, and it looked plush and inviting. His leg was aching again. Something urged him to wash up and go straight to bed, assuring him his mind would be at ease once again after a good night’s sleep.  
  
“But I do want to see kin,” he whispered. Asking questions had kept the fog back, but it had brought on phantom thoughts unattached to any coherent memory. He saw flashes of an old wooden table, a big moth with beautiful brown wings and a fuzzy body, even a fish in a bucket. He couldn’t shake the sensation of needing to check his front pocket. But his uniform didn’t have front pockets.  
  
His eyes wandered to his older clothes, still folded next to the bed. Untouched.  
  
He laid the shirt and pants out. In one pocket he found a small packet containing tiny, silver specks. Apple seeds, he immediately knew. In the other he found a broken sliver of wood too small to serve as a toothpick, yet intricately carved with a swirling pattern. As he stared at both, he was overcome with a wave of dread and guilt, as if he had made a terrible mistake he still could not remember and wronged someone he could not name.  
  
As tears welled up in his eyes and his vision blurred, he heard a scratching sound at the door and a plaintive meow.


	26. Better Left Unsaid

  
Basil insisted on walking, letting Jack and Marjorie ride on Aurora (and Philomene, naturally, ride in Marjorie’s pocket.) “What sort of brave prince would I be to force others on their feet? Never you worry about me!” That had been his insistence, and now he worried the others would notice how he was beginning to regret it.   
  
Aurora was a symbol of his mother’s heritage and the ties Sethwhile had with the ‘free’ Northern Territories through that marriage. She was also his best friend and a companion animal trained to respond to him. It was no coincidence that a prince who suffered from constant chill would ride a great, woolly bear instead of a horse. Aurora was trained to protect him and keep him warm.   
  
His toes felt numb and his fingers ached as if he were pressing against a biting winter wind, despite the fair, sunny weather. Basil had felt the touch of the chill since he’d learned of the secrets his grandmothers were keeping from him, now magnified outside of the warm ‘bubble’ of fairy magic. All this time he could have faced an enemy! Numerous ones at that; the fairies had suggested there were six Other Ones. He could have earned enough glory and heroism to name him Prince Charming six times over just by defeating one of them. And he could have done it before one of them stole Ezra away.  
  
_Or I could have gone up against them and died_ , he reminded himself. _Even Lavender and Violet don’t know how to defeat them. One of them almost captured the princess. One of them has Ezra, who I thought too strong to ever need my protection. There’s so much I failed to understand! No wonder my grandmothers think I’m a fool…_  
  
He recognized this. When the chill came upon him it sometimes affected his thoughts, turning them towards the worst. He needed a distraction. Even Marjorie was quiet as they trudged through the forest, the weight of the fairies’ story weighing on all their hearts.   
  
Jack was a particularly puzzling case. Even with the boy in their-well, custody, he supposed, Basil couldn’t read him. Was Jack the wily trickster-hero who had defeated a violent giant with nothing more than a rusty axe and his wits? Was he a petty thief whose actions had led to Ezra’s unjust punishment, merely playing at innocent victim once more? Everything about Jack suggested he was confused and frightened, which was a possibility Basil didn’t want to accept. Great heroes were rarely confused and never frightened.  
  
He thought he ought to say something. After all, Prince Charming was charismatic at all times. Basil cleared his throat, making himself smile. “So, young Jack! Despite our misfortunes and troubles, at least we can hear about your famous exploits once and for all.”  
  
“Ah, yeah.” Jack gave a weak smile before looking away again, leaving another awkward pause in the conversation.  
  
“…If you’re ready. When you’re ready,” Basil suggested.  
  
“Before we have to interrogate you,” Marjorie added with a bit too much cheer.  
  
“Lady Marjorie, please!” Basil gave her a look half-pleading, half-scolding as Jack quailed in terror. “We’re not going to interrogate you, Jack. You have my word.”  
  
“Yes, I was just joking! Just trying to lighten the mood. He’s not going to interrogate you,” Marjorie said.  
  
“Lady Marjorie!”  
  
“Aaand neither am I.” Marjorie gave Jack a pat on the shoulder. “A girl’s got to hold a bit of a grudge.”  
  
There was a tiny muffled voice from Marjorie’s front pocket. Once Marjorie brought Philomene out and had her safely situated in the handmaiden’s palm, the princess was able to speak more clearly. “Jack, isn’t it?”  
  
Jack was clearly staring down over Marjorie’s shoulder at the Flowerling maiden. “…Y-yes. Uh, you’re the princess, right?”  
  
“That’s correct!” Philomene sat comfortably, her dress blooming out around her. “You have nothing to fear from us. It’s easy to reason The Gourmet had the same kind of influence on you that he now has on our friend. Perhaps it would help you recall your side of things if I guided you through questions?”   
  
Basil wondered if that was much different from an interrogation, but it was hard to associate that word with the gentle girl in the flower petal-patterned gown. Jack, on his part, blushed a little when Philomene looked up at him and finally seemed to relax.   
  
“I-I can do my best, Princess.” Jack tried to tip his hat before apparently realizing he wasn’t wearing one. “You’ve had trouble with this fellow before, right?”  
  
“With one of his colleagues, possibly. Tell me, Jack.” Philomene took a deep breath. “Do you think you’d be able to identify the beans that spawned that beanstalk if you saw them again? Were they speckled or green? What size were they? Would you say they were closer in shape to a lima bean or smaller and compact like a red bean? Were they dried or sprouted? And how thick around was the beanstalk? Were the leaves big enough to support your weight? What sort of weather did it sprout in? Have you heard of a Green Witch, and have you ever been in contact with her? If I could determine the nature of the compacted green magic ‘beans’ and under what circumstances they were activated, I might be able to reverse-engineer…oh dear, was that too much at once?”  
  
Jack was staring at Philomene again, though this time the color had drained from his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t…I can’t tell you that. I can’t-no, I can remember it if I think real hard. But I don’t…when I think back to it, I don’t feel so great.” He hugged his elbows and looked away. “Sorry, Princess. I’ll try to recall.”   
  
“Oh-Oh, Jack, I’m sorry.” The princess shook her head. “I didn’t realize-well, I get carried away with the details. I forget humans tend to look at a broader picture by default. And I didn’t realize it was troubling you so. Such magical phenomena happening without warning can have quite traumatic effects…”  
  
“It wasn’t the magic. I mean, that was part of it. But magic’s just something that exists. You know of it even if you’ve never seen it yourself, like a hurricane. Sorry,” Jack repeated. He was avoiding even the princess’s gaze now. “I’ve tried to think back to it before, I really have! Figured out if I did right or not, if I should have grabbed that harp or left well enough alone, if I was really trying to help Ezra or just justifying greed.”  
  
“You were trying to help Ezra?” Basil asked.  
  
Jack blinked. “He didn’t know? I figured I’d return his goose to him and maybe some of the profits his boss was hoarding, before everything went a little, you know.” He wobbled his hand. “But I tried to leave some of the money behind for him. What actually happened to him?”  
  
Basil bit his lip and waved his hand. “We’ll talk about it later. So you’ve tried thinking back to what’s happened and you say you can remember. What, then, is the matter?”  
  
“Remembering what happened brings all the visions back, too. And the gut feeling that I’m really just a petty criminal who’s seen as a hero because people down here don’t like folks up there all that much.” Jack was gripping Aurora’s fur like a blanket; thankfully, the bear didn’t seem to mind. “The Empress heard my story from a witness, gave me a letter of praise with her wax seal on it and everything just sort of got bigger than all of us from there. And sometimes I still hear footsteps like thunder, turn around and expect to see this huge shadow looming over me with wild eyes, threatening to bake me in a pie alive…”   
  
Jack’s hands were shaking, Basil observed. The Hero of the Beanstalk hadn’t merely been scared; that fear hadn’t left him, nearly a month later. Did fear linger so long after the threat had passed?   
“I’ll talk about it soon. I’ll make myself do it,” Jack blurted. “I promise.”   
  
Well, Basil had committed himself to bringing courage to those who needed it. “It’s alright, Jack. You don’t need to tell us right away. We need to deal with The Gourmet first before we can begin figuring out the Green Witch’s true scheme, after all. And Hamilton Tooth is dead; he can threaten you and Ezra no longer.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jack, sounding unconvinced, said no more.   
  
Thus that terrible, heavy silence descended upon the travelers once again, and Basil cursed himself for it. He was supposed to know what to say. The longer the silence went on, the more he started hearing his own thoughts scolding him for being unable to protect all of his friends, asking him how a cursed prince could ever bring hope to anyone, and prodding at his own fears. Moments like that always brought the cold; already he could feel it creeping up his legs. He gave a desperate glance at Marjorie, hoping she’d find something else to talk about.  
  
Marjorie cleared her throat. “So. When we find Ezra at that party, you want me to make him confess?”  
  
She would bring up that, wouldn’t she? Basil stumbled, the blush in his cheeks burning against the cold under his skin. “Lady Marjorie, really! You can’t make someone confess. And I’d rather hear it from him when he feels ready to talk about it, if you’re correct about him.”  
  
“Confess what?” Jack asked, though his question went ignored.  
  
“Okay, so let’s say he gets the guts to be honest with himself for once. Though this is Ezra, a great stubborn lump at his best. What then?” Marjorie asked.  
  
“Really, Marjorie,” Philomene said with a disapproving tone. “Let them figure it out on their own.”  
  
“Yes, Your Highness speaks wisdom as always! Do take her advice, Marjorie. As to what then-I don’t know! I do not know, my lady. I wish to rescue him first, as Prince Charming ought, and then…” Charm him? Had Basil already charmed Ezra without thinking about it? Basil had gone into town from time to time and found himself delighting in the glances of girls and boys here and there, but he’d never taken it seriously. He assumed his parents would arrange a marriage for him as they’d started to do for some of his siblings.   
  
Then again, he’d reached his 20th year without even a whisper of it from his parents or the fairies. Maybe a cursed prince was harder to marry off than Basil had figured, and they weren’t anticipating him breaking his curse anytime soon. What was Basil to think of the fact that Ezra apparently liked him as he was, when Basil himself could only dwell on his own flaws? What did he think of Ezra, who had protected him? Ezra, who was a giant and a peasant clearly too proud to reveal his feelings to a prince? Was the sudden wave of warmth just a lingering blush brought on by Marjorie’s prodding questions? It had, at least, banished the chill from his toes.  
  
He expected more such prodding from Marjorie, but nothing came. When he glanced at her he saw her smile had vanished, replaced with a steely stare. She halted Aurora not 15 feet from the cottage, pointing forwards and indicating with her hands for the others to remain silent.

Aurora sniffed the air. Her ears folded back. A thunderous growl rumbled from between bared, clenched teeth.   
  
The door of the cottage hung ajar. The sign bearing the name ‘G. Chulainn’ lay split in two on the old wooden porch.   
  
Basil was sure he felt the wind sting him through his cloak, though there was nothing more than a light breeze. The sudden burst of heat was gone as if it’d never been there.  
  
Before he could take charge, the tiny voice of Philomene spoke up. “Marjorie,” she ordered, “stay here with me. If we have to-” Her voice caught. “If we have to sacrifice my lab for our safety, that’s alright.”   
  
“Highness! I can sneak in there and check,” Marjorie whispered back hastily. “It might just be the Toad or some cats again. I’d hate for you to lose all the progress we’ve made…”  
  
Basil shook his head. “My lady, Aurora doesn’t react that way to cats. Stay back here and protect Her Highness. I suspect she’s once again the target. If Toad knows where we live, so does his Rot Witch.” He forced himself to hold his head high despite his shivering.   
  
“Basil, what are you doing? What are you planning?” Philomene peeked out of Marjorie’s pocket. “Please, no one do anything brash for my sake…! We can find another place to live. Ezra too, once he’s safe…”   
  
“But we don’t have time to run and hide forever, Highness! How can we save one of our own, or your entire kingdom for that matter, if we can’t protect ourselves?” Basil put his hand over the hilt of the sword hanging at his hip. “Stay back here with Aurora. She’ll keep you safe. Jack, play that harp if you need a distraction. Lady Marjorie, continue to keep Her Highness safe. If-if anything happens, please sneak into the Gourmet's party and save Ezra for me and tell him I…” He squeezed his hands into fists and then forced a charming, cocky smile. “I was just joking there! Just a bit of levity. Prince Charming fears nothing, and he always saves the, erm, giant in the end. I’ll tell you how it goes over supper tonight…!”  
  
Before he could listen to any more protests, Basil leaned over and looked Aurora in the eyes. He knew from her gaze that she understood. He turned around and marched into the cottage alone, pulling his hood up and slipping through the doorway into the darkness.  
  
_This is what I wanted_ , he reminded himself. _I wanted to be the heroic prince who faces terrors, defends the innocent and wins hearts. I have someone’s heart even if I have no idea what to do with it, I have three innocents to defend and I am facing a terror. I have nothing to fear. I am Prince Charming…!_  
  
The table was overturned, the pots and pans strewn wildly about. Ezra’s books were missing from their counter, nowhere to be found in the disheveled kitchen. Something had broken the old rocking chair.  
  
Marjorie’s bedroom door was half-open. Something spoke from behind it, a growling voice deep as the rumble of an earthquake.  
  
“So, the Mushroom Hag understands princes after all.”


	27. Tooth and Claw

Basil forced himself to walk towards the ajar bedroom door, somehow knowing what was coming. He recognized that voice. How could he not? He knew the great shadows running through the woods at night, the dark forms he’d seen surrounding the Moonflower Gate on that fated night, and the great low howl he heard on midnight patrols. The first time he’d heard that howl his heart had stirred, enthralled with the idea of a true, monstrous enemy in his forest home. And if she had just been _his_ enemy…!  
  
When it was vacant, it was hard to ignore how big Ezra’s cottage was. The chairs and furniture were huge even for the giant, suggesting they were built for someone even taller. He had to stand on the chairs to ‘sit’ at the table. It had been relatively easy to ignore how tiny he felt there when it was filled with cheerful or fretting voices, the smell of baking bread or the mere sight of Ezra working at his table. Now it felt like a cavern carved mockingly into the shape of a run-down shack.   
  
He had never entered Marjorie and Philomene’s room, at their request. He murmured an apology to them under his breath and pushed the door open to greet the wolf.  
  
She was curled up on the massive double bed, one that was clearly built for a pair of giants. Her great, grey form clashed with the soft quilt of the bed. Unlike the kitchen, the bedroom was largely untouched; even Philomene’s dollhouse was intact, and the great fat goldfish swam obliviously in its bowl. She had one red eye the size of Basil’s head open, the pupil contracted. Her fur was clean and thick, her teeth jagged and yellow. She raised her head and snorted when she saw him, but did not attack.  
  
“You knew I was here and came to greet me? Without your giant friend or your tamed bear?” Mother Wolf spat out the word ‘tamed.’ “Do you wish to die after all? If so, just give the word. I’ll snap off your head quickly.”  
  
Basil left his hand sitting on the hilt of his sword, but did not yet draw it. He made no steps closer to her, forcing himself to stare up at the creature who had nearly taken Ezra down. “It’s me you want, isn’t it? I don’t know why, when you could have struck at me anytime before.  I never hid from anything but the winter. But you hurt Ezra to get to me.” He narrowed his eyes. “You broke into our-their home, to get to me. You should be honored I face you alone, you coward…!”   
  
“Coward?” Mother Wolf raised her ears, one missing a chunk. “I assure you, none of that was my idea. The woman made of mushrooms and stinking of dead plants made a suggestion, and I was disinclined to disobey her considering the circumstances.”  
  
“Woman made of…” Basil’s eyes widened. “The Rot Witch? She sent you?”  
  
“Whatever you call her and whatever she calls herself, I don’t care. I don’t live by her unnatural rules, nor by yours. The concept of ‘honor’ is something Enlightened Kin like humans decided on when you found ways to distract yourselves from the true rules of life: eat, and protect your offspring.” Her lips curled back.   
  
It took a lot of self-control to keep Basil’s hand from shaking. It had been easy to ignore quite how big she was when he faced Mother Wolf on Aurora. Still, her behavior here puzzled him all the more. “If you do not live by any codes, Wolf, why have you not snapped my head off here? You have every advantage. You seem to have some desperate appetite for me quite out of nowhere. If this is about eating, why do you debate with your food?”  
  
The wolf narrowed her eyes and growled low, but remained sitting. “I have been polluted with this Enlightenment I have. Do you know how it is to be an Enlightened Animal who lives apart from humans and the like, let alone the only one? Questions rise in your head, ones that have nothing to do with survival. Fears of things more abstract, like loneliness. You do not die of loneliness, and yet…! And curiosities, so many questions about things that you know do not matter. For instance…”  
  
She lunged forward off of the bed, trapping Basil against the wall of the room without even touching him. Her head was indeed big enough to snap him in half easily, her breath hot and smelling of blood. Yet she made no move to do so, even as he reached for his sword. “For instance, little prince. What is it in your heart that she so desires? The Rot Witch knows things about this world I could never learn without leaving this forest. There must be something she wants out of you, and you know what it is. Tell me! Tell me…!” Her voice echoed against the walls, her great tail knocking aside the quilt. “If I eat you before I know, the question will drive me mad…!”  
  
“I DON’T KNOW…!” Basil couldn’t move. Terror wasn’t supposed to paralyze. It was supposed to galvanize him into action. In none of the Annals of Prince Charming did it describe how she stood frozen in the face of fear. The great heroes of Mountain Folk myths were never silenced by confusion as a great beast drooled hungrily on them. He had rehearsed his inevitable great battles against monsters! He’d sparred against wooden targets and solid phantoms generated by fairy magic. As she loomed over him, as if waiting for him to strike first, he caught sight of something behind her on the bed.  
  
Pieces of paper, ragged and too big to be from a human-scaled book, lay strewn beneath the impression her body had made. A few blew around behind her, torn into shreds. A heavy cover lay discarded on the floor.   
  
Fear for his own safety evaporated in the face of rage at such a spiteful, meaningless act. He drew his sword and slashed it right across her great, scarred nose, opening a fresh wound. As she recoiled in pain and fury, he took his chance and darted through the doorway back into the kitchen.  
  
_I’ve got to lead her out of here. And away from the others! Mountain Lords, let them be someplace safe already…!_ He ran out onto the front porch, finding no visible sign of Aurora and her passengers. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long for the great wolf to come bounding out of the cottage, her tongue hanging out of her mouth.  
  
To make matters worse, the sun had retreated behind fat, heavy clouds. The rain would not hurt him much, but wet clothing would bring on the chills.   
  
He raised his sword as the wolf lunged at him again, feeling it clash against her teeth. Her great paw swatted at him with a force like a hammer, knocking him right into the side of a tree trunk. Through what had to be adrenaline alone he rolled back onto his feet, glaring.  
  
“You say it’s me you want! But you keep doing cruel things to everyone else! Why?! Why did you tear up that book? You had nothing to gain from that!” He knew how impractical it was to shout during a battle, yet didn’t care.  
  
The wolf’s fur was rigid above her back, blood dripping from her nose and gums. “She told me to tear up the book! She said if I didn’t, our agreement was forfeit. You would have done the same…!”  
  
“Agreement?!” Basil held his sword up to knock against the side of her head as she lunged again, the sheer force of it nearly knocking him back off his feet. He took off running again, weaving through the trees. Why hadn’t he gone in with more of a plan? He couldn’t outrun a wolf. But they couldn’t climb trees.   
  
Finding a tree with sturdy branches covered in pine needles, he scrambled up and balanced on one branch. It didn’t take her long to find her, stretching her body upwards and snapping her teeth at where he stood just out of reach. “You call me coward, Human Prince, and yet here you are hiding up a tree like proper prey. Everyone obeys the Law of Tooth and Claw in the end. Will you stay up there until you die of thirst?”  
  
Fat raindrops struck Basil on the head and arms. The storm wasn’t long in coming now. He had to time it. She lunged at him, her claws slowly sliding off of the trunk until she fell again upon all fours.  
  
That was his chance. He leaped down from the tree, landing square on her back and holding onto loose skin as if she were some monstrous version of Aurora. The wolf turned around and snapped at him, but couldn’t reach her own back so easily. She bucked and leaped, howling in fury. “GET OFF! Get off me, human! I’m no tamed beast, no servile Enlightened!”  
  
“You want to know about my heart?! Fine! It’s cursed, just like the rest of me! One day it’ll freeze solid and I’ll lose any compassion I’ve ever had. I’ll become a tyrant who only knows cruelty. And when that happens, I’m sure I’ll gladly embrace the Law of Tooth and Claw. But until then…!” He held on fast, even as she nipped at his leg, tearing a great hole in his fur-covered slacks. The exposure to the cold and the rain hurt almost as much as the scrape of her teeth.   
  
“Get off!” He could just see one of Mother Wolf’s great eyes widened so the whites were exposed. She was panicking; he recognized that behavior in animals. It left him with an unexpected stab of guilt, even as he reminded himself how she’d hurt and terrorized his friends in his name.   
  
“Now I’ve told you a secret, so you’ve got to tell me. What is this Agreement? Why are you serving the Rot Witch?! Tell me, or I’ll never get off!” Basil wasn’t so sure he could keep that promise, between the way his whole body ached every time she shook, the rain and the whine beneath her furious growls.   
  
“Your heart will freeze?! Sounds like a blessing to me! To never have to care for another, to never known the pain of loneliness or the fear of loss…! Until then what, Prince? You’ll keep living by false oaths?”  
  
“Until then…” No, he couldn’t stay on there forever. He couldn’t force her to tell him with fear and intimidation, not even at the point o a sword. Basil wasn’t capable of it, and he knew it. Or perhaps he was, an idea that was somehow more loathsome.  
  
Prince Charming was said to be one to take spectacular risks.  
  
He kept his grip on her, but relaxed the rest of himself. He took a deep breath and started humming, the same way he would when singing Aurora to sleep at night or calming her when a thunderstorm raged outside the dome.   
  
“What? What are you-what are you doing? Are you a bird?” The wolf bucked and threw him back once more. This time he let go, sliding backwards and landing unsteadily on his feet. There was a thin trail of blood on his leg, and he didn’t want to know what the rest of him looked like. He held his sword out defensively as she turned around, backing up. But he hummed the melody, and then began to sing.  
  
_“Sleep in the arms of the ancient land, safe in forest’s embrace…”_  
  
“You’re mocking me!” She snapped at him again; he ducked away, still singing. As he suspected, it was confusing her. “You expect me to sleep when you sing?”   
  
“Safe in the mountains and forest sands, safe in the meadows and seas…” Basil wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing himself. She was certainly going to eat him. At the very least, maybe that would mean she would leave his friends alone.   
  
He heard something curious, wondering at first if his mind was inventing it out of blood loss. There was music accompanying him now, the gentle strum of a harp. Was that Jack? Did he know Mountain lullabies? Why wasn’t that idiot hiding?!  
  
“You intend to lie, then? To lull me to sleep like a pup, then cut my throat? Is that honor?! I am not safe!” Her ears folded back; this time she did not snap at him. “They are not safe…!”  
  
“They?” Basil stopped singing, though the harp song continued in the same melody. “They who, Wolf? If you’re no tamed beast, for what reason could you ever want to serve the Rot Witch?” He did not lower his sword, nor did he strike. “You’re Enlightened, as you said. So talk to me.”  
  
“They are not safe,” she repeated, in a mournful tone like a howl. “I grew reckless and made a pact with her to better their lives. The pups ought to know memory and legend, even if it brings pain. It is not so terrible to be Enlightened, and it lets us stay ahead of your kinds. But I could not stay ahead of her, and now…”  
  
“Wolf.” The harp music continued, playing from somewhere above. Basil made no steps closer to her, nor any away. His wet clothes hung heavy against his body, the pain in his leg already numbed from the chill. “Tell me where they are. I will save them!”   
  
_What are you doing?_ He heard a voice inside him with the hiss of a winter wind. _You cannot save your enemies and your friends! You have her vulnerable. Cut her throat and save all those she would devour._  
  
“You? A whelp like you?” The wolf snorted. “You will save them, when you can barely defend yourself? When you said your own heart will betray you in the end? Someone like you will stand up to someone like her?”  
  
“I will become Prince Charming! I will save everyone.” Basil’s voice was catching from a pain in his chest. The winter voice was whispering something incoherent. He decided it was a hallucination; it had to be. “The giants, the Flower Folk, the people of the cities, my kingdom and the beasts!”  
  
“How!? What would you do against a creature like that, something that poisons the forest with her very presence? What could you do that we, the beasts, could not?!”  
  
And Basil realized she wasn’t moving to attack him. She really wanted an answer out of him. Perhaps she had been holding back the whole time, though he couldn’t guess why. He was only alive because she was holding back; he was no great warrior at all.  
  
“I do not know. There may be nothing I can do for anyone, not as I am. But give me the chance to try! Grant me this and I’ll save your pups, and if I fail you can take my heart for I’ll have no use for it!” He was shivering now.   
  
The wolf stepped forward, slowly, and sniffed him. “Try. What a useless statement. When someone asks you that question again, I hope you have a better answer.” She could have bitten his head off, yet he saw she did not. Instead she looked past him. “Turn around. Turn around and see this, and know if you break your promise your children’s children will regret it.”   
  
He spun around to find a hooded figure whose mushroom-white face was barely visible, standing a good distance away and watching. She stood in front of something that looked like a great webbed cocoon.   
  
“You were watching me!” Mother Wolf snarled at the hooded figure. “It was not enough to humiliate me, to force me to obey the orders of another. You kept emerging from the earth with them and disappearing, always just in sight, always reminding me of my fear! But not now…!”   
  
The wolf took off running, and Basil followed, hobbling after in confusion. Was that the Rot Witch herself?! He saw, as he got closer, what she had trapped inside of the cocoon. There were three whimpering wolf pups, each the size of a grown hunting hound.   
  
By the time he arrived the wolf was already upon the Witch, who made no sound as the wolf began to devour her. Basil thought he saw a hint of slight panic, a twitch of the hand and a shudder, before her body began to dissolve into white foam and spores.   
  
Basil sliced the cocoon open and the wolf pups emerged. He grabbed one, though it took a great deal of strength to hold it. A second simply followed him, after giving a whimper in the direction of its mother. The third, the one with reddish fur, bolted off before Basil could do anything and vanished into the forest.   
  
“Go!” Mother Wolf’s mouth was covered in a sickening green foam, and her eyes were clouding over. Basil began to wonder why she hadn’t tried to eat Rot Witch beforehand, and why she was speaking of this as if it were a temporary solution.  
  
Basil’s legs were about to give out under him. Instead he felt something pick him up and throw him, along with the squirming wolf pup, up on its back. Aurora turned around and picked the other pup up by the scruff of its neck before running back through the forest. Basil gave one last glance back at the big wolf, whose body was convulsing, before his adrenaline gave out and everything went dark.

* * *

He woke to something licking his face. Basil recoiled back by instinct when he saw a great, wolfish shape looming over him, until he recognized it as one of the pups. He was inside of his cottage again, and he could hear Lavender ranting in the other room.  
  
“…inside the house?! You know what happens to animals raised around fairy magic? Not like our Aurora. She was grown when she came here. But this…!”  
  
“Well, we can hardly turn them back out.” That was Violet. “We’ll have Basil build a hutch when he’s feeling better. Or perhaps we can see if any of his siblings are willing to adopt. They’re young enough to be tamed, especially around all this magic.”  
  
Their voices echoed in his head. He was unable to focus on them, instead sitting up and numbly petting the gray wolf pup between its ears. It really did look like its mother, and seemed to have latched onto him as if it knew. He’d have to ask Lavender about what actually happened to animals raised around fairy magic. It rolled on its belly across his bed. When he glanced down he realized the other was curled up against the bed.   
  
The door flew open and a scowling Marjorie marched in. “Well, now that you’re awake I can ask what exactly you thought you were doing there! Giving that silly dramatic speech and then running off into danger without the rest of us! That was our house, Basil, and I’ll hope next time you won’t be so…” She trailed off, her anger melting away from her expression as she stared at Basil. “You know what? I’m going to yell at you later. You need to rest up for our rescue mission.”  
Jack was hovering behind Marjorie, not saying anything.   
  
Basil looked up at them. “Was that Jack’s harp I heard there? You hid in the trees, right?”  
  
“It was Her Highness’s idea,” Jack mumbled. “Though I knew that song from one Ma used to sing to me and just played along.”  
  
Philomene could just be seen peeking out of Marjorie’s open hand. “I wanted to give you a chance to break away if you needed it, or strike a killing blow if you thought it was necessary. I figured the hypnotic effect might kick in, but that didn’t happen. I think something else did. Basil, I’m glad you’re alright but please let us face the next obstacle together, won’t you?”  
  
“Of course, Your Highness.” Basil thought he ought to be scared or sad, but he couldn’t feel much of anything. Perhaps it would hit later. “Did you happen to see a red wolf pup, the same size as these two?”  
  
Marjorie shook her head. “Considering their size, I’m sure that one will do just fine on its own.”  
  
“Basil,” Philomene asked, “why did you start singing that lullaby? I assumed you were just trying to distract it, but that’s an odd tactic.”  
  
“It is. I don’t…she reminded me of Aurora. She was frightened. I think she was so consumed with fear it caused her to hesitate just as I kept freezing up. I think she didn’t really want to kill me. She was lashing out at something smaller because what scared her was just too powerful.” He shuddered and found his vision clouded by tears, wiping his eyes. “Oh, I hope I’m no allergic to dog fur. Your laboratory looks like it was safe, Highness, and Melchior was apparently well-hidden. Although Ezra’s books…”  
  
Marjorie set a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody expects you to save everyone, Prince Charming. We’ll stay here a little longer while Violet’s beetles make sure it’s safe. Rest up and then I’ll help pick out costumes for you when you’re back on your feet. We’ve got a dinner party at the Gourmet’s place coming up, right?”   
  
Basil didn’t answer, instead pulling his blankets back around him. “Did I do the right thing? Should I have slain her? It turned out the same in the end. I still led to her death.”  
  
“Did you intend to save her?” Philomene asked, so soft Basil could barely hear her.   
  
“I-I declared that I would. But it seems she made her own choice.” Basil shook his head and forced a smile. “I will live up to my declarations next time.”   
  
As Marjorie left with Philomene, Jack lingered for a second. “Uh, Highness? If you need to talk later…” He didn’t allow Basil to answer, instead retreating behind the door. 

* * *

  
Toad lingered by the fallen Mother Wolf, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do in the event the Rot Witch was dead. It couldn’t have been that easy, could it? Would the Green Witch be displeased at the loss of her sister? They did seem fond of each other.   
  
The wolf’s corpse lay still for hours until nightfall, when something began oozing out from between her teeth. It puddled, a white, bubbling liquid substance beneath the head before the bones of a hand grew outward, reaching up. Mushrooms blossomed on the bones, forming into grayish-white flesh.  
  
A mouth formed in the puddle as the hand reached upwards. “I would have thought she of all people would have understood the need to eat. Well. A little hand up, Toad?”


	28. No Windows

“Come on, come on! Hurry up, hurry up.” Misty walked with her tail hooked in an upwards question mark, her soft paw pads not making a single sound against the carpet as she led Ezra down the darkened hallway.   
  
Ezra was not so gifted in agility. He felt he ought to step carefully, lest his heavy footfalls awaken whatever sort of security might exist in the Vacant Palace. Guilt had him constantly glancing over his shoulder and wincing every time Misty spoke or meowed plaintively. The hallways were apparently abandoned after ‘lights out,’ lit only by the flicker of dimmed red glass lanterns.   
  
“No one will hear you. Trust me. They’re all too tired after working themselves to exhaustion. And the Gourmet has to sleep after he feeds. Well, it’s a little more complex than that, but I’ll tell you later. Come on!” She brushed against Ezra’s legs and then nudged him to turn down a corner into complete darkness.  
  
“We’re going there?” Ezra whispered, recognizing that hallway. It was the one he’d glanced at briefly earlier, the one where he’d seen the shadow of a Sky person before the hall itself disappeared from his view. “Now? In the-it’s so dark. Doesn’t he even have windows?”  
  
“Windows?” Misty blinked. “Oh, right, I remember windows now. I liked sitting in them. He has nothing like that. I know you can’t see in the dark, so just follow me!” She walked ahead, though it wasn’t long before her black shape was lost in the darkness. Even her white feet disappeared from view.  
  
_What if this is the spell?_ Ezra wondered as he crept forward down the hallway. _What if she’s convinced me to turn on my new employer just so she can do something terrible? What would a cat do to someone like me, anyway? Cats eat things. One cat can’t eat a whole…me. But a dragon can. What if she’s a dragon in disguise? Can dragons use magic?_  
  
“You’re continuing to ask yourself questions, right?” Misty called from up ahead.  
  
“Of a sort,” Ezra answered honestly. He was reduced to feeling in front of him, searching for a door and hoping he didn’t encounter a trap instead. Hadn’t this hallway been lit by a dying lamp last time he saw it?   
  
“Good. The longer you do that, the more chance you have of resisting the spell for a while. Here we go!” Misty nudged at a door, the shape of which Ezra could just barely make out, and it creaked open to reveal a slightly better lit hall. The walls were dingy green and brown, with cracks running down the sides.  
  
The doorway also wasn’t very tall. Ezra yelped as his head smacked against the top, wincing, taking a deep breath and squeezing through the human-scaled door.   
  
“Oh, I forgot about that. The other one usually takes a different passage. Sorry, Ezra!” Misty didn’t sound very sorry. At least he could see her again, patiently waiting on the other side of the doorway as he pushed himself through.  
  
“It’s…fine,” Ezra sighed. “I’ll have to get used to that if I’m going to be living among humans.” He was relieved to find the new hallway had a high enough ceiling that he could at least stand up mostly straight. He rubbed his smarting head as he trudged onward. When he pulled his hand away he noticed he had some kind of red, crystalline powdered substance in his hair.  
  
“This looks like…and the floor is…” The ground here was unpleasantly soft in some places and felt brittle in others, bits of it crumbling onto his shoes. It was of the same brown and green color as the walls. Here there were no decorations on pedestals, no paintings or tapestries. The green looked haphazardly splashed about. Unlike the shining red substance that made up the main area of the Palace, this hall was made of something with a spongy look. He thought at first it might be some kind of pumice brick.  
  
Then, as Misty led him through the twisting, turning passage, he caught wind of a musty smell and gave a second look at the green, sometimes bluish and white parts of the walls. What he saw made him cover his mouth and take deep breaths to keep from upending his dinner.  
  
“Mold! It’s all covered in mold! It’s rotting and decaying.” Ezra shuddered, focusing on Misty to avoid looking at the repulsive architecture. “It looks like it’s made of some kind of bread-but that’s ridiculous. You can’t build out of bread.”  
  
“Gingerbread,” Misty reported. “I bet it was very tasty when it was fresh. The mice still eat it.”   
  
“Gingerbread? Mice?!” That did not ease Ezra’s mind. The masked Merchants took care to make sure creatures didn’t sneak into the exports they brought from the Center of the Universe, but rats and mice were persistent and occasionally a few would sneak in. Mielle had been dealing with an infestation for years. He soon found himself glancing down at his feet to keep an eye out for fuzzy grey specks, which forced him to again look at the thick patches of bread mold.  
  
“Big, fat mice.” Misty spoke of them in the way one might a fine dessert. “Don’t worry. The Gourmet has mostly forgotten about the older parts of the Palace and thus doesn’t monitor them, but enough of his magic remains to keep it stable. We’re almost there! Just cover your mouth so you don’t breathe too much of this in.”   
  
“Already doing that,” Ezra assured her through his gloved hands. “What do you mean, he’s forgotten it?”  
  
Misty didn’t answer as they came upon a huge set of double doors, incongruous with its disgusting surroundings. They were of a fine dark brown color, from a distance suggesting a mahogany base set with enormous jewels. A closer examination revealed the white filigree patterns to be made of icing, and the jewels to be big gumdrops and peppermint candies. The ‘wood’ was soft and pliable to the touch, smelling of nutmeg and spices.  
  
“Gingerbread,” Ezra repeated flatly before pushing the doors open.  
  
He stepped out into a hall that seemed almost as big as the main atrium of the Palace, one he might have mistaken for a ballroom had it not been so cluttered. He could barely make out the gingerbread walls to search for signs of mold or icing, so hung were they with dusty old portraits and broken, dimmed lanterns. There were mounds of silver, heaps of fine fabric that towered over his head in colors and patterns he could only dream of owning, and stacks upon stacks of wine bottles in cases, unopened and collecting dust. Ezra nearly tripped over a jewel the size of his fist as he climbed over the hills and valleys of the apparent indoor junkyard, trying to keep up with Misty.  
  
“What is this? Why does he have all these things hidden away? And just tossed aside! That was Star Satin in that heap! Do you know how long Star Satin takes to spin, how few spinners can do it?!” Ezra stumbled again on a steep incline, pausing as he heard voices on the other side. “Misty, please wait up! I can’t move or climb as fast as a cat…” He made it up over the rise and peered down into the little valley at the center of the ballroom.  
  
There was Misty, along with a remarkable number of cats in every possible color, pattern, fur length and tail variety. Some were huddled around clusters of pillows. Others lounged on their backs or sides like royalty. To a one they turned to look up at him like he ought to be relieved and honored to see them, an action followed by a storm of meows and the occasional audible chatter.  
  
“See? I told you there was another one!”  
  
“Is this one going to stick around this time?”  
  
“Well, Misty keeps saying one of them is going to help us out.”  
  
“Who says we need out? I just found the nicest, fattest mouse the other day.”  
  
“Yes, but the sun…”  
  
Misty climbed back up to meet with Ezra, tail held up proudly. “Welcome to the Discarded Ball. Though you haven’t really been discarded yet, have you?”  
  
“Discarded? Oh, um. Hello.” Ezra tipped his hat at the gathering of cats, carefully situating himself cross-legged in a pile of towels. “This-this is really a bit much to take in all at once.”  
  
“Well, every so often the Gourmet gets a cat for companionship. Then he gets tired of the cat because it isn’t special anymore, so he decides to forget about it. And we go to retrieve it,” a fat orange tabby explained. “Quite a few of us are Enlightened because he prefers that kind of cat. So we’ve started a little colony here. He doesn’t seem to mind us as long as we keep the mice from nibbling on the Palace, or else he’s just forgotten about us too fiercely.”  
  
Ezra felt tiny, sharp claws on his arm, lifting it to see little orange and white kittens swarming it. The tiniest white one climbed onto his hat, and he found himself smiling despite the confusing absurdity of the situation. “Ah, careful there…wait. This is all-why is there a hallway made of rotten gingerbread? Why do I keep forgetting things? What is all this!? And who is the other…”  
  
“Sky person?” An older woman’s voice cut out over the chorus of meows. The sea of cats parted, allowing a Sky woman to pass through. She had a halo of wiry white hair and her cheeks were sunken in, but she otherwise looked no older than 40 or 50. Perhaps, Ezra thought of the woman clad in a dress of red and gold rags, she had some kind of illness. Her light skin looked sallow, and there was a hobble to her walk.   
  
On instinct, Ezra rose to offer her a hand as she approached. She waved it away, instead giving him a nod and a saddened smile. “Is he now taking ones so young? You’re barely past boyhood…”  
  
“…Well. I’m not sure what you mean by taking, ma’am.” Ezra lowered his head, wincing as one of the kittens clawed its way across his shoulder. He realized how ridiculous he must look and reddened. “I came here of my own will. At least, I think I did…oh, pardon. I’m being rude. Ezra Kettle, baker.” That was the style in which Sky Folk introduced themselves to one another. Of first importance, given and family name; of only slightly less importance, profession. What one did was almost synonymous with who one was.  
  
If the woman recognized the name Kettle for good or ill, she showed no sign of it. “Cecily Chulainn. Dancer.”   
  
“C-Chulainn?” Ezra thought back to the name hanging on that old cottage and had to keep himself from falling into a coughing fit.   
  
“My family name’s infamy precedes me now, I suppose?” Cecily smiled sadly, lowering herself as the cats dragged pillows over for her to sit upon. “Or I should say my husband’s. I took his name when we married.”   
  
“Nnno, not at all! I mean, a little. I am told he was Chulainn the Great and said to be terrible in some manner, but frankly I know how reputations can spread without merit. For all I knew, Great was used in the positive sense! Isn’t it usually positive?” Ezra took a deep breath. “Forgive me! I must sound like a fool. It’s just been so long since I could speak to another of my kind! And I…may have been living in your husband’s old house, as it turns out. You see, I was Exiled when-”  
  
Cecily held up the palm of her hand, silencing Ezra. “Bit of an unspoken rule among the Exiled. We don’t talk about why we’re down here. Some of us might be down on the ground unjustly, and others might well deserve it. Best you don’t know.”  
  
Ezra nodded slowly, inwardly cursing himself for his faux pas. “But if you can tell me, how did you end up here? I thought I came here of own will, but now I’m not so sure. I’ve seen some troubling things this past day and night…”  
  
“Poor child. He is fond of taking Exiles from time to time. We’re particularly vulnerable to it. It breaks our hearts to be torn from the Sun and the Moon, and he tells us how to fill that loneliness. By filling his chambers. With junk like this!” Cecily waved her hand around the ballroom.  
  
“Wait. These are all treasures he has people make for him?” Ezra lifted a silver spoon painted with an intricate filigree pattern. “And he just throws them in heaps in here?!”   
  
“Not all of it. He loves everything new and shining at first. It brings him joy to know it’s his. But his nature is to hunger, and eventually everything loses its luster to him. He can’t gain any pleasure from it and it certainly doesn’t make him happy. So he keeps seeking out people who have lost or desire something-glory, love, companionship, even the very sense of being treasured and wanted. He feeds off of that and has them create beautiful things for him. Then he tires of them, and they end up here.” Cecily sighed through her nose. “Spoiled child in old fairy form.”  
  
Ezra remembered the Gourmet describing his reasons for naming the Vacant Palace, and it took on an unpleasant tone. “There’s just so much here. How could he ever tire of it?”  
  
“It doesn’t cure his hunger. I think he wants something special, something uniquely his own. But even his power has limits. If he loses interest in something, he starts to forget about it. He has to, I think, though I’m not sure why. My husband did a little magic here and there, but it was never my specialty. That’s the reason these cats are able to wander freely through his own domain, and why you were able to sneak through the passages he’s left to rot. What he forgets about may as well cease to exist as far as he’s concerned, even if it’s something inside the Vacant Palace.”   
  
Unsure he wanted to ask the question, Ezra forced himself. “And the people he collects and ‘treasures?’ His servants?” For he now realized that was just what they were, whatever The Gourmet had said about treating Ezra like a pupil. He had escaped one form of lifelong servitude into something possibly worse.  
  
Cecily gently rubbed her foot, tied at the ankle with a blue scarf. “I was lucky, in an awful way. I danced and danced for him enraptured, feeling like I was performing for the Sun Herself, until something caught my eye. It was a mermaid swimming around in a big glass globe. A real mermaid, of the sorts that never even approach the shore! I wondered why he wasn’t even paying attention to such a rare, spectacular sight, and why she looked so miserable in her pristine aquarium. Questions throw the spell off, as the cats know, and questioning your own fate or happiness does it most easily. As soon as the spell wavered, I stumbled, lost my balance and twisted my ankle. He immediately lost interest, and why wouldn’t he? Even the greatest Pegasus Wing Dancer is of no use to him if she can’t dance. So I found myself wandering the halls aimlessly, practically invisible to all who saw me and finding none other of our kin.”  
  
“Until we found her,” Misty added. “We like Cecily! She sneaks into the kitchen and brings us cream sometimes.”  
  
Cecily chuckled, though her smile didn’t last long. “Sometimes people resist the spell for a while until they fall back under it, because to resist it too long is rather miserable. There’s no escape from this place, no doors nor walls that lead to the outside; only those he brings in may enter, and only his ‘guests’ ever leave through some means even the cats can’t discover. It’s much more comforting to let the spell take you. After that, he keeps feeding off of your desire to please him, which by then has become the only desire you have; you can’t even remember what you’ve lost that’s torn such a hole in you heart. And you work and you work, until…”  
  
“Say no more! Please…” Ezra held his head, the kittens finally climbing off of him respectfully, and buried his face in his knees. He wanted to sob like a frightened child, but nothing came out. “I’m such a fool. I fell for it completely, and I-I had freedom out there! I was Exiled, but I was free and I was happy! Why did I let him tell me I was unhappy, or that it was bad to be pleased with my new situation? So what if it wasn’t the ‘right’ experience for a Kettle? I had…I had…” His hands shook. “I can’t remember! I can’t remember what I had that I lost, that he took from me…!”  
  
“Careful, child! You’ll fall into despair, and you’ll slip back into the spell. If you concentrate on what you’ve lost, he’ll sense it. He’ll start feeding off of you…”  
  
Ezra couldn’t listen to Cecily’s warnings. He rose to his feet, reaching into his pockets and pulling out the two small satchels. There were the silver apple seeds and the broken shards of wood. “My…friends. They were my friends. The first real ones I’d ever had. And then I lost them, because-because he…and I…”  
  
So intent was he on trying to recover his memories that Ezra had not noticed at first how the cats had scattered and hid, and how Cecily now stood at his side glaring at something behind him.  
  
“Stay away from the boy,” she snapped, setting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll kill him! Don’t you have enough?!”  
  
Ezra fell silent, slowly turning around. The Gourmet was standing behind him, looking somehow taller and stronger than Ezra remembered him being. He was not smiling. “Ezra, Ezra Kettle. Why are you talking to yourself like that? What are you doing in a forlorn, empty place like this? I was sleeping so well, when I smelled the delicious scent of hunger.”  
  
“It isn’t hunger!” Ezra snapped, too angry to remember his own fear. “Not everything is hunger, you ridiculous spoiled glutton! You knew I loved someone, you knew I had friends who cared for me and you took it from me!”   
  
“You came here of your own will, Ezra Kettle.” The Gourmet produced a pipe from nowhere, lit it and smoked it, unconcerned with Ezra’s outburst. He seemed to be ignoring Cecily entirely; was his ability to forget and discard so thorough that he couldn’t even see or hear her? “And there’s no way out. So just give up. They won’t see you again, and they certainly won’t forgive you when they find out what you’ve done with that apple. Could you really face their shame and disappointment when you proved yourself to be everything the Sky said you were?”   
  
“Don’t listen to him,” Cecily warned Ezra. “Keep asking questions! He’s going to undermine you.”  
  
“Go to sleep, Ezra, and fall back under my power. You’ll be happy here.” The Gourmet’s voice was soothing and gentle, a siren song against Ezra’s confusion and sorrow. “You’ll forget about this desolate part. Maybe we can do renovations on it later, clean out the pests. You’ll make such beautiful desserts. My dinner guests will love them. They’ll love you, or at least what they hear of you. That’s what you want, right? To be admired, child of the stars?”  
  
Ezra held his breath, determined to avoid the topic of what he wanted. It seemed to feed into the Gourmet’s strength. “Where does the food go, Gourmet? What do you do with all those dishes we all work so hard on? What did you do with the rose that human woman made out of an apple peel, the one she cut her fingers up making? I’m sure I made icing to help you maintain this ridiculous place, but what else do you do with it?”  
  
The Gourmet lowered his pipe, silent for a second. “What does it matter to you what is done with it? I appreciate it. I enjoy it. I have it!”  
  
“Does it go to waste? Do you keep it on display somewhere until it turns to rot? What happens to all the servants you work to death? Are they ever really fulfilled? Are you!?”  
  
At that last question, the Gourmet’s eyes lit up a terrible, burning red. “Ungrateful boy! Stupid, clumsy giant. Your family name should be spoken of as a curse if you view your own work with such little importance! You are of the Sky, you fool! You ARE your work…!”  
  
Something struck him in the face, knocking his pipe out of his mouth.  
  
Ezra, realizing Cecily and a few hiding cats were staring at him, flushed again. “I-I just had to get him to stop talking for a second. I’m not usually the least bit violent…!” He had hauled the nearest object at the Gourmet, which turned out to be a vase painted with a delicate picture of a little gingerbread cottage. Somehow he had a feeling it wouldn’t hurt someone like the Gourmet.  
  
The Gourmet stared down at the vase, his pipe forgotten. “You…you made me remember this thing exists. This thing, this dull piece of garbage!” He sounded more astonished than angry. “I cannot believe someone painted this for me, or that I was ever even the least bit pleased with it. What a humiliating little mockery of humble origins.” He genuinely laughed, mirthful rather than spiteful, then stepped on the vase and crushed it into pieces.   
  
Ezra backed up against the hill of treasures, sensing he had made some kind of mistake. The cats were whispering to one another now, and Cecily gripped his arm.   
  
“Well, perhaps it’s my own fault. Sky Folk always do make for difficult treasures. That whole ‘no windows’ thing is quite a problem when your kind don’t do well without sunlight. Perhaps I should display you in some other manner. But you see…” The Gourmet’s form seemed to bubble and then expand out of his coat, massive limbs springing outward. Ezra briefly got a glance of red muscle and sinew, a body with no skin, before he coated his increasingly misshapen and enormous body in layers of cloth, sticky sugar and icing. What remained loomed above Ezra’s head on all fours, looking more like a hodgepodge in the shape of a daddy longlegs than anything remotely humanoid.   
  
His voice stayed exactly the same, though he now spoke through glistening jaws made of red hard candy. “I simply cannot pass up the chance to serve my dinner guests desserts made by the last surviving Kettle. To taste something so rare? Their greed will be exquisite! Especially when they find out it will be the last meal you will ever serve.”  
  
The monstrous Gourmet raised one of his long arms and brought it down on Ezra, and all went dark.


	29. The Worthy Guest

“Well, I give the fairies this.” Marjorie lifted the hem of her purple gossamer gown, letting it swish about a little as she stood in front of the Moonflower Gate. “They know how to make a decent dress, even if this is not at all my style.”   
  
“It was actually just an old dress of Grandmother Violet’s.” Basil himself was dressed in all black, right down to the color of the fur trim and scarf around his neck. “She said altering clothing is one of the first magic tricks a fairy learns. I have no idea what they’d usually do with it. But! At least now I make a fine mercenary-hired-as-bodyguard.” He crossed his arms in front of him and narrowed his eyes. “How do I look? Properly stern and foreboding?”  
  
“Ah, you might want to wrap that scarf around your face. It’s far more intimidating that way.” Marjorie was more concerned with someone recognizing Basil, but imagined this was a good way to get him to comply. “Prince, I know there’s no dissuading you from coming and nor would I try, but are you sure you’re recovered from that fight with…?”  
  
Basil froze for a second before quickly regaining his composure and laughing, though it sounded a little hollow. “A bit sore here and there, but what’s a bruise or two?” That wasn’t at all what Marjorie meant, but she recognized as well as anyone when someone didn’t want to talk about something.   
  
Philomene was resting comfortably in a gold-colored satchel tied to Marjorie’s belt. She spoke to Marjorie through the bracelet, with the latter wearing the communication ring. It flickered and transmitted the princess’s voice. “I’m not sure how secure the Gourmet’s dinner party will be. Especially if the only price of admission is bringing some kind of treasure…”  
  
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Jack sighed. He had not bothered with a disguise, having already been hired on as a harpist. “Rumor has it he only accepts those with the rarest treasures, things you wouldn’t find elsewhere without a lot of digging. Or he demands a lifetime of service as payment. And some of ‘em offer it, too.”  
  
“Well! We’re not going to grovel before him when our whole mission sets us against him,” Basil said with a decisive toss of his braid. “We shall simply march in there and-”  
  
“I told you, I have a gift.” Marjorie realized how quickly and forcefully she’d said that, and flashed a smile to smooth it over. She was feeling a little ill, her head aching and her insides “So don’t worry about it!” She expected another message from Philomene, who was none too pleased with her plan, but the princess remained quiet.   
  
_“I’m just glad you told me about it first,”_ Philomene had said at the time, though the way she’d fallen quiet after suggested disapproval and concern. It was nice the princess still thought highly of her to worry about her; that was further proof Marjorie could never tell Philomene everything about herself.   
  
Neither had spoken of the apple, the elephant in the room-or rather, no longer in the room at all by the time they had searched through the cabin. Even now, Marjorie was left with a tangle of conflicted thoughts. _Good riddance, glad it’s gone! We shouldn’t have picked it up in the first place, especially if we were charmed into it by the Rot Witch. Would she have just planted it in there to tempt Ezra? But that couldn’t have been Ezra who took it. The wolf must have eaten it, and it needs a living host. Think nothing more of it. It’s out of your hair._  
  
_But if it was he who took it, serves him right for his cookbooks to be torn to shreds…!_  
  
No. No, Marjorie reminded herself, those were her mother’s thoughts. Those were her father’s ideals. Save the giant who was too trusting for his own good first, yell at him over the apple after.   
  
“So! Shall we? Jack, we’ll need you to lead the way. If anyone asks, remember: I am Lady Bianca Snowfield.” Marjorie knew the name was redundant, but liked the little nod to the House of Snow. “This is my mercenary bodyguard, erm…”  
  
“You don’t know my name! I live for payment and am a man of few words, stern and stony-faced, yet I guard your side at all times.” Basil pulled his black hood up for effect.  
  
Marjorie stared and cleared her throat. “Yes! I’m sure you’ll pull that off perfectly, Nameless Mercenary. Anyway, once we’re in-and don’t worry, I am confident we’ll get in when it comes to present the gifts-we must not eat or drink anything.”  
  
“But you’ll have to pretend to, in order not to stand out,” Philomene added. “I would also suggest trying to avoid gazing directly at whatever sorts of entertainment he provides. I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t hypnotic in nature, like that harp. Jack, you said you’re one of the last acts, right? When time comes to play, try performing the song just slightly off by a few notes. That sort of disruption might start to snap the guests out of any spell the Gourmet casts. At least if my speculation is correct!”   
  
“Lady Marjorie and I will slip off with Her Highness when the opportunity presents itself and try to locate the kitchen, which is where I suspect Ezra has ended up. You have my sword in case things do go awry! But, ah.” Basil rubbed the back of his neck. “Ideally it does not come to that. Much as an epic battle in the lair of a corrupted fairy appeals to me, it would make our goal that much harder.”  
  
Jack plucked idly at a harp string. “And what if he’s too far gone? Ezra, I mean. What if he doesn’t want to go back on account of that spell? I’m telling you, it gets into your head. It’s like being drunk when you can’t remember drinking a thing.”  
  
“Then I’ll break the spell with-we’ll break it! It’s a spell, and if it’s anything like a curse it can be broken.” Basil marched right into the gate ahead of time. “And you’re too young to know what it’s like to be drunk, Jack! For shame…”  
  
Jack mumbled something about fifteen being a fine age for things and followed, leaving Marjorie as the last one to go through. She adjusted her bonnet, steadied herself through a shudder, made a resolution to ignore the headache and followed.

* * *

  
Jack led them on a roundabout way through the market, one which happened to pass carts selling some of the most expensive, luxurious, and largely unnecessary items to be found. Marjorie had to make herself look past a display of bottles carved out of enormous jewels and tinctures made of ground sea dragon scales that glittered like emeralds. Never mind what nice gifts the small bottles would make for Philomene. She had a mission, and that mission involved concentration. Besides, sea dragon scales were absolutely useless for most ailments, according to the princess.  
  
That path led them to a gate striped like peppermint and decorated with sweets that looked real enough to eat. It functioned much like the one in the Blue Forest, though Marjorie was sure she could smell ginger and cinnamon while the strange light blurred around them.   
  
The gate deposited them at the foot of a desolate-looking hill, the dirt cracked and patched unevenly with dry, yellow grass. The sky was a sickly grayish-green, the sun blotted out by a heavy storm cloud that flashed from within, occasionally highlighting distorted shapes in shadow. It had a thick, shining appearance, suggesting a membrane encasing the cloud. The Sky Island, for Marjorie suspected that was what she was looking at, hung relatively low and spread out over the horizon, allowing not one drop of rain for the parched earth.  
  
In contrast, the structure atop the hill was vivid red, shining very much like the surface of a candy apple. It was a palace, uneven in structure but grand in its own way. Turrets seemed to grow out of one another like mushrooms. One wing appeared to be made out of blue fondant, attached haphazardly to the main body of the castle with enormous blobs of white icing. Even now, Marjorie had difficulty comprehending what she was seeing.  
  
“A candy castle?” Basil gazed up at it, looking past the finely-dressed crowd gathering at the gate. “That is what it resembles, correct? I’m not just seeing things.”  
  
“No, it’s candy.” Jack sounded as awed as the rest; clearly he hadn’t seen The Gourmet’s abode before. “And cake. What happens if it rains?”  
  
“There are old spells that can preserve food against damage,” Philomene explained as she peeked out of Marjorie’s purse. “But they usually render the food inedible. It just turns it into useless decoration. Needless to say, I wouldn’t taste the walls of that place if I were you. Although, that may not be what he’s using…”  
  
She retreated back into the purse as Marjorie approached the crowd. Individuals dressed in an array of colorful finery gathered, some clutching packages to their chests, all glancing at one another with suspicion even as they made friendly small talk. A woman in white fur held a box of sweets as she spoke in a language Marjorie didn’t recognize with a man leading a baby unicorn behind him. An older man dressed in silks held a covered birdcage. All the guests were clearly quite wealthy based on their clothing, and there were enough of them to fill the base of the ugly hill.   
  
“Should I make up a story if they ask about invitations?” Marjorie whispered to Jack.   
  
“There’s no invitations. People just hear about it if he wants ‘em to hear about it, from what I’ve been told.” Jack shrugged. He looked ill at ease among the posh crowds. “If he asks, you can say I told you about it and you thought you had something worthy of him. And-oooh.” He shuddered as a figure in a fine red suit tapped on his shoulder with a gloved hand.  
  
“Sir, you are late. Follow me to the staff entrance.” The escort stared with empty grey eyes, his skin sallow and his hair turning white at the roots. He grabbed Jack by the arm and led the boy off before there could be any more protest.  
  
A moment later, the crowd parted without any signal Marjorie could hear, and the spun-sugar gates blocking the candy palace swung open. The Gourmet walked out, taking long strides with his hands clasped in front of him. His coat was brilliant red and gold, and most of his face was hidden within it. The voice that came out was soothing and genteel.   
  
“Hello, my honored guests! Or those who wish to be counted among my honored guests. It pleases me to see so many willing candidates. Truly if destiny has led you here, it means you are worthy of the delights that hide within!” The Gourmet held his arms outward above his head.  
  
"Here you shall catch a glimpse of the wonders I have accumulated over the years. You shall savor dishes none others have tasted before, delights lost to the ages. You shall hear melodies that will stir your hearts and bring tears to your eyes. And when the night ends, you will leave knowing you are among the few who shall ever experience these things. Those memories will be yours. You shall look upon others and know in your hearts they shall never have what you have. Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself!” He grinned, showing too many clean, white teeth. “Come forward, won’t you? Form a line, yes, quite like that. Show me what you’ve brought me.”  
  
Marjorie cleared her throat as Basil stood alongside her, the both of them waiting behind a large man with a warrior’s build and long white hair. She still wasn’t feeling well, and all the talk of delights and sweets were triggering her nausea. At least she would have a defense against one magical temptation.   
  
She couldn’t see what sort of gifts the other guests were offering, but she found the line went remarkably quickly. Some advanced forward. Far more were turned away at the gates, some shouting in indignant rage, others pleading. A few really did seem to accept the lifetime of service, based on the way they knelt in front of the Gourmet. They were all desperate to get in. What if the party filled before she reached the end of it?  
  
_Well,_ she thought, I _too am desperate. We all are, for a more righteous cause! And that means absolutely nothing in this case. Maybe I’ll hope the Vine really is on my side for once. Seems to be the only deity to have given me the time of day before._  
  
And then, as the great warrior deposited a cow-like beast skull veined through with blue crystal, Marjorie found herself at the front of the line. She took a deep breath, gave one last, guilty glance down at that purse where Philomene sat, and smiled up at the Gourmet. “Hello, sir.”  
  
The Gourmet squinted at her, sniffing the air. She thought she saw the light of recognition in his eyes, but he made no remark on it. “You may introduce yourself after you prove worthy of entrance, madam. Your gift?”  
  
Marjorie spoke loud enough for the crowd to hear. “I offer the gift of a Golden Apple Tree.”  
  
This sent a series of murmurs through the crowd. How could such an ordinary-looking and frankly sickly and frail woman offer such a thing? Was she bluffing? Basil certainly seemed to think so, based on the brief confusion on his face. Marjorie, for her part, stood staring at the Gourmet.  
  
“A Golden Apple Tree.” The Gourmet did not move from his place, nor did he drop his smile. “Interesting, seeing as your hands are empty.”   
  
“Ah, but surely an expert like you must know how it works? How such a thing is grown? Or would be grown, if one could do it.” Marjorie clasped her hands and took a deep breath. “Allow me to show you, if you must see it for yourself.”  
  
She reached up and whipped off her bonnet, strands of black hair cascading around her face. All stared and whispered in shock at the results of her daring experiment, the one she had assured Philomene would be all worth it to get them into their enemy’s lair. The princess had wanted Marjorie to be more honest, hadn’t she? And what better time to be upfront with the truth when the truth was awful? All she’d had to do was fail to take her medication for several days. She could undo the results with a dosage later, surely.  
  
“…Exquisite. So it really is-so you really are…” The Gourmet gazed just above Marjorie, at the top of her head, and then spun around. “Very well, very well. Let her and her escort in.”  
  
“Bodyguard, sir.” Marjorie bowed her head. “Surely you understand.”  
  
“Of course, of course. That’s it!” The Gourmet bellowed down to the rest of the gathered visitors. “No more guests!”   
  
The crowd began to disperse, angry and jealous. Marjorie tried not to take too much pleasure in it as she was escorted past the candy gates, taking Basil by the arm for the sake of appearances.  
  
Basil whispered to her as they were rushed into the cinnamon-scented palace. “I don’t understand. A hair ornament?”  
  
“Yes. It’s really just a hair ornament,” Marjorie lied. "A very expensive one. Old family heirloom."  
  
From the side of her head bloomed a perfect golden apple blossom of pure gold, framed by three leaves. At least it was just in the early phase.


	30. Up a Tree, So to Speak

_Why? Why? Why did she do it? No, I know why she did. I know exactly why she did. It was brilliant, in an awful way. She’s distracted him with the promise of something he’d probably never get otherwise. But why, why did I let her?!_  
  
Philomene clutched the packet of herbs to her chest and did her best to ignore the knots in her stomach. It was a mega-dosage of the dried herb concoction they’d formulated to keep Marjorie’s curse at bay. It was, if Philomene was being honest, more akin to a parasitic infection than a true curse like Basil’s affliction. The good news was, that meant there was more than one way to fight it off. The bad news was that there was no guarantee of a permanent solution.   
  
The worst was how virulent it was. Marjorie had only ceased taking her medication for a few days while Basil recovered from the fight with Mother Wolf, right after they’d searched the room and found the laboratory safe but the Silver Apple missing. In just that time she’d already sprouted a blossom. Would they even have time to administer the dosage while Marjorie was still able to move around and breathe? They had no idea how this infection progressed. At least now she would have a way to observe—  
  
Philomene bit her lip. No, that couldn’t have been the reason she didn’t order Marjorie not to go through with her risky plan. It was Marjorie’s life, and Philomene had no right to command it more than she did. She trusted Marjorie. She could think of no better gift to guarantee entrance into the Palace, and none of them were equipped to sneak into an Other One’s domain. It had nothing to do with scientific curiosity.  
  
She took another peek out of the opening of the purse, getting nothing but a view of red glass walls that seemed to rise up forever, meeting in a domed roof hanging with crystal chandeliers. Philomene didn’t expect to leave the purse if all went well, but in case it had proved necessary, Lavender had provided her with a sturdy twig that would serve as a substitute cane. She hoped now she wouldn’t find time to use it. The so-called Vacant Palace looked to be nearly as big as Thumbelina Kingdom itself, though less efficiently built.   
  
Slipping back into the purse, she tried to focus on voices. Listening was easier when she didn’t have to engage in conversation with anyone else. If she heard Ezra’s voice anywhere, she was to alert Marjorie through the ring, who would alert Basil to slip off in that direction. Philomene was starting to see the problem with this plan already: she kept hearing a cacophony of mixed voice booming around her, muffled by the walls of the purse, and had trouble picking individual ones out. She could hear Marjorie and Basil at least, though the two weren’t saying much. She hoped it was because they were staying in-character, not because they were taken in by the scenery.  
  
Quite abruptly, Philomene found her view obstructed by a figure with a hidden face. She ducked down quickly, hoping The Gourmet hadn’t seen inside her bag and wondering what reason that man might have for blocking Marjorie’s way.  
  
Marjorie seemed to take it in stride, though Philomene detected her stumbling in her step briefly. “Oh, sir! If it isn’t our honorable host. Is there something I can help you with…?”  
  
The Gourmet had a silky-smooth voice betraying very little in the way of malice. “My dear, I’m just honestly surprised you would so desire an invitation to my humble abode you would offer something that technically should not exist. Not to delay you, but I am very curious to see how, exactly, you managed to recreate and plant a Golden Apple seed. Especially since you used your own body, which would appear to defeat the purpose…”  
  
“You mean because I can’t make use of it myself.” Marjorie was keeping her head remarkably well in front of her enemy, Philomene had to note. “Since by the time the tree is mature enough to produce an apple-well! You’re quite correct there. Astute and a man of good taste!” She chuckled as she discussed her own impending death.   
  
“Am I correct in assuming it wasn’t your doing, young lady? If so, I must commend you on making a wise choice and donating the-ahem, fruits of their labor to my Vacant Palace. It’ll be well taken care of here. No wars to be started over Golden Apples while I’m around! And don’t you worry,” he added with a chuckle, “it’ll be our little secret. I’ll wipe it from the minds of the other guests before they leave. Can’t risk theft. I hate it when people take away my _things_.”  
  
“Yes, yes indeed! I can only imagine. You needn’t worry, I’m sure after a week of being your guest or prisoner or whatnot you’ll be rid of me and have your apple!” This time Marjorie’s chuckle sounded a little more nervous, and Philomene felt her place a hand casually against the purse. An instinctive protective action? Philomene reached out, placing her hand against Marjorie’s finger and wondering if the human girl could feel it.  
  
“So you understand I can’t let you leave. Good! But of course your bodyguard will be sent on his way as the night ends. Lovely thing about this place! It’s bigger on the inside, so breaking from the tour and trying to find something like a quick exit would be a very, very bad idea. He leaves at my behest. They all do,” The Gourmet added, his tone just as cheerful and polite.  
  
“…Good! Yes, thank you very much for that safety warning,” Marjorie said. “Now that we’re agreed…”  
  
“Oh, one more thing.” The Gourmet cleared his throat. “I can’t help but wonder what it is you desire so much that you would not only risk your own life, but effectively sacrifice it. That sort of desire is very rare. It nourishes the body and soul. Thank you so much for bringing it in here! Now, onto the dining hall. I will make sure all _three_ of you have an unforgettable experience to make up for it.”  
  
Philomene heard footsteps, and then silence. She slumped against the side of the bag, heart pounding in her chest, and spoke into her bracelet as soon as she felt it was safe. “Marjorie! He knows I’m here. I don’t know how, but he does!”  
  
“It’s-it’s going to be fine.” Marjorie’s voice came through the flashing bracelet. “Perfectly fine! He thinks I’m the sort to sacrifice my life for anything. The important thing is, I have his attention. He keeps looking at me like an expensive-looking wrapped gift. When we get to the table I’m going to slip your purse to Basil, and then at the right time I’ll come up with an excuse for him to slip off.”  
  
“Wait.” Philomene blinked as she processed what Marjorie had just said. “But that would separate us.”  
  
“I know! That’s why BASIL had BETTER NOT let ANYTHING BAD happen to you! Right, darling nameless bodyguard?”  
  
Basil sputtered. “Of-of course not! I’d protect her with my life! What sort of pri-nameless bodyguard do you take me for, milady?”  
  
Philomene had never heard Marjorie willingly trust someone to that degree before. In better situations it would have cheered her. “But-but the medicine…”  
  
“Slip it to me when I reach into the purse. I’ll take it when the moment’s right,” Marjorie insisted. “I promise. For real, this time! Not going to be a child about taking my medicine this time. Believe me, I have no desire to turn into a tree. We’re here to get Ezra and maaaybe find out more about those Other Ones. If he’s focusing on me he’s not going to care as much until we, um, steal back one of his ‘things.’ I have a feeling we’re going to need your brainpower to figure out whatever spell Ezra is under, Your Highness. As for that exit thing, well! Worry about it when we come to it, right?”  
  
Philomene still had a bad feeling in her stomach about all this, but realized Marjorie needed reassurance from her. Marjorie needed the approval and confidence of her princess. So Philomene took a deep breath and smiled, even though Marjorie wouldn’t see it. “You’re right. We can do this. Just don’t blame me when you have to choke down a mouthful of bitter herbs over this! You knew what you were in for…”

* * *

Jack was led by a servant in red and white through a service door, along hallways that seemed to blow past in a blur as they walked. How fast were they going? He didn’t feel as if he was running.   
One of the harp’s strings hummed without Jack touching it. He told himself it was just the air moving past.   
  
The servant took him to a backstage area where three dancers stretched, a great horned bird-creature fluffed its feathers and a young witch in a flower-covered hat paced in front of a portable cauldron. As expected, he’d been brought to wait with other entertainers, though he found himself wondering what the witch was doing there. Jack gave an awkward glance at the pale, haggard servant. “Well, uh, thanks. Guess I better rehearse, since I showed up late and all…”  
  
The servant didn’t leave. He stepped in front of Jack and held his hand out.  
  
“…Are you expecting something? I mean, I’m fine here! Yep, just ready to play a song for myself-I mean for The Gourmet. I can take it out if you want to see it…”  
  
The servant blinked yellowed eyes. “The harp.”  
  
“Yes, on the harp!”  
  
“Hand over…the harp.”  
  
Jack blinked and took a step back. “What? No! I mean, it’s mine. I’m assigned to play it!”  
  
“You disappointed the master. You ran from him and from your duty. You didn’t finish the song. You brought it to the fairies.” The servant remained unmoved, and Jack realized others were rising up to surround him in the darkened hall. The other performers didn’t even seem to notice his presence. “The master doesn’t like when others take something away from him or claim what ought to be his. The harp stays. Another will play it. You go.”  
  
“Like heck!” Jack pushed right past one of the servants, mumbling an apology as he knocked the man down. The servant didn’t seem to notice. The others ran after Jack as he dove down a turning hallway, running past flickering lamps and ornate paintings. He nearly knocked over a statue in a glass case, and couldn’t bring himself to care that time.  
  
“I don’t get it. Did he spy on me somehow? But he didn’t recognize Marjorie! What did I even do that made him mad? Just stop playing in the middle?” Jack stopped to catch his breath, his back aching from the weight of the harp on it. “Am-am I talking aloud to the harp? Well, either way, it’s mine! It’s rightfully mine…”  
  
“Stole,” a servant whispered as they passed. She was carrying a big covered dish and didn’t pursue him, but her eyes followed him.  
  
“Stolen,” another voice mumbled, though this time Jack couldn’t see anyone.  
  
“No, I didn’t-I didn’t…! I mean, it isn’t his…! I didn’t steal it from _him_!” Jack shook his head, diving down another hallway as he saw the red-clad servants coming after him again. “Gotta lose ‘em somewhere. Somewhere crowded…!”   
  
He burst through a door, finding himself in what had to be one of the kitchens. It was full of cooks so engaged in their work they didn’t bother to look up at him. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. Not only could he hide more easily here, even with that big harp, but he might find Ezra after all. He was about to crawl under a counter when he heard a plaintive moo.  
  
“…Wait.”   
  
He inched forward, these servants ignoring him entirely. They didn’t even whisper at him the way the waitress had. Hearing that moo again, Jack peered around a corner into another room. There was a tall woman in a butcher’s apron sharpening a knife, and next to him…  
  
“Pearl!?” Forgetting his mission for a moment, Jack ran up to the knobbly-kneed cow with the black spot on her forehead. She was tied up against a table and stomping her feet, apparently aware of what was about to happen to her. “No, this is Pearl! It is you, old girl! You were here the whole time.” He hugged her around her neck, ignoring the butcher. “Oh, I’m sorry! Come on, girl, we’re gonna get you out of here. I can’t believe he was gonna serve up a skinny old thing like you…!” Before realizing what he was doing, Jack undid the rope and set her free. Pearl wasted no time, mooing loudly and retreating from the butcher back into the kitchen.   
  
_That ought to disrupt his dinner a bit_ , Jack thought with a little too much glee. _Of course, they might catch her again. And me._  
  
“It’s because she is wanted,” a monotone female voice said behind him. The butcher stood up, lowering her knife. “Something lost is always more precious. If he cannot have what he lost, he will have everything else…”   
  
_Ah, good one, Jack Nimble. Try to escape into a kitchen and immediately aggravate a woman with a knife preparing to butcher a live cow. She’s just gonna use you instead._ Jack, knowing he was without a weapon, pulled out the harp. A terrible place to play, but maybe if he could get a few notes in and lull the butcher while Pearl escaped…  
  
Something grabbed him from behind with enough power to lift him right off his feet. Only then did Jack realize how terribly high the ceilings were here. Almost as high as that bakery.  
  
The butcher gave a dispassionate gaze up at him, and then turned away. “Got to find the cow again. He wants the lost cow, the stolen bread, the golden egg tart…”  
  
And Jack turned around to see a figure who he would recognize anywhere, even in the red and gold uniform.   
  
“Ezra?…Ezra?!”  
  
Ezra, holding Jack up with one enormous hand, said nothing. His movements were mechanical and stiff. Over his eyes he wore a blindfold woven of silken gold.

* * *

Marjorie followed the other guests, ignoring their stares and the pounding of her own heart in her aching chest. All would go according to plan, or it wouldn’t. Jack would provide his disruption, or something else would do it. She simply would not fail.   
  
As a servant led her to sit on a cushion as fluffy as a cloud, the table in front of her made of what looked like crystallized sugar, The Gourmet stepped forward on a stage at the end of the vast hall.   
“Ladies and Gentlemen, do sit back and relax. Enjoy anything I offer. This night is yours.”  
  
Behind him, Marjorie thought she briefly saw the glint of a cat’s reflective eyes. They were gone at next glance.


	31. Phantom Banquet

_“Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself over that little prank you pulled on him. Having your wolf tear up those books he wanted. You’re such a child.”_  
  
“Child, am I? Ha! Do I have to work harder on the old woman look? Is that what you’re telling me, Mirror? And of course I had fun. Like to keep him on his toes. Don’t you think he’s getting a bit big for his britches?”  
  
_“Feeling threatened? Is that what this is about? Though in a sense I agree; I don’t like any one of us getting too independent of the rest. And frankly I think he’s being thrown out of balance.”_  
  
“Is it always balance with you?”  
  
_“Listen. Him laying claim to one of my experiments is one thing, especially since she foolishly entered his lair to begin with. But he may have decided the Harp is his now, too. His greed is consuming and destabilizing him. Why do you think I contacted you so urgently while you were still regenerating that disgusting biological body of yours?”_  
  
“Calling something ‘disgusting’ is not very objective of you, Mirror. Just saying. So what do you propose we do? I say we sit back and watch him collapse in on himself in the next several decades or so. He’ll go inert again and we’ll find the Harp in the rubble of his play palace. I’ll be enjoying the terror he causes in the meantime!”  
  
_“Children, all of you! You’re all tied to your impulses and can’t see the bigger picture. I thought Gourmet was different, but he’s no better; you at least are aware of your own mischief. But I don’t understand. If you aren’t eager to get your hands on the Harp, why did you send that boy to retrieve it from the Sky?”_  
  
“That was HER idea, not mine. She was in one of her moods.”  
  
_“…Wait._ She _planned that? The Green Witch is talking to you? She can talk again?”_  
  
**YES.**

* * *

Marjorie sat with her back straight up in what she figured had to be a perfect imitation of the prim and arrogant figures around her. Out of old habit, she glanced around and ran through a brief analysis of her fellow party-goers, 12 in all including herself. There were two nobles from the Fire Opal Empire, based on the opals both wore around their necks. Right next to them sat a highly decorated soldier of the Ever After Empire, her silver hair in a no-nonsense braid and the emblem of a crystal sphere pierced with a sword on her armband. It was amusing in an unnerving way to see old enemies seated together at such a table, making idle conversation as if their nations weren’t in a cold war.   
  
She saw men and women in fine garb from nations she couldn’t even recognize, most of them alone aside from the apparently married Fire Opal nobles. One young man stood out, dressed in drab gray garb and avoiding speech and eye contact with anyone. He stood on the opposite end of the table, and it took several glances for Marjorie to notice he was holding his hands out for a tiny figure in white and gold. Of course; he was a Carrier, a human hired as a bodyguard for a wealthy Flowerling wanderer. She couldn’t make out the Flowerling himself, only the jewelry he wore in order to be better seen.   
  
And there were no plates on the table. No forks, knives, spoons or chopsticks. There weren’t even any water glasses. Did no one notice? She felt ill at ease, as if participating in a ritual where everyone but her already knew the rules.  
   
She also felt ill in general. She’d forgotten how unpleasant the mid-stage curse infection was, the way it constricted her breathing little by little and gave her faint, brief sensations of something moving under her skin. _If you start feeling any stiffness of movement,_ Philomene had warned, _take the medicine right away. I don’t care how much it throws the plan off. At that point, you take the medicine!_  
  
Basil was sitting right behind her just as other bodyguards were, though he was having difficulty keeping up the ‘motionless, collected’ part of the plot. He kept shifting from one foot to the other, fidgeting and occasionally shivering. She knew he couldn’t help it, but still hoped it didn’t draw the Gourmet’s attention away from her.   
  
Up on a stage draped with shining red fabric, a woman in a mask was playing an instrument Marjorie had never seen nor heard before. It looked like an abomination of strings, bells and a snakelike brass horn, but the music coming out of it was melodious and dangerously hypnotic. To distract herself, she spoke in a low whisper to Basil.  
  
“Have you seen Jack? I wasn’t sure when he’s supposed to perform, but he’s our distraction…that said, I’m beginning to worry we may need one earlier than we thought, after the Gourmet leered at us like that.”   
  
Basil shook his head. “I think Jack’s going to play during the dessert. Which is probably what Ezra is working on, isn’t it? Also, have you noticed something odd about the Gourmet? He looks ill at ease. I know that pace all too well.”  
  
Indeed, the Gourmet was standing in front of the stage and pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back and occasionally whispering to other servants. Maybe the feast was late. Perhaps he’d noticed the lack of tableware and was furious at the oversight. That, however, wouldn’t explain the way he occasionally seemed to chew at his own fingertips, or why she could have sworn she heard a snarl under the music.  
  
Whatever it was, he seemed to brush it off at the drop of a hat as he walked onto the stage, the music ending. The musician hurried off without making eye contact with him. “I apologize for the delay, my beloved guests. There was a misunderstanding regarding a few things that are mine-that is to say, some of my exhibits and treasures. But never let that trouble you! Allow me to offer the first course.”   
  
He held out his hands, and something seemed to ripple in the air. Marjorie never saw a server appear. Instead, a delicate bowl painted with flowers appeared, filling itself with a crystalline green liquid that sparkled in the lamplight. The steam rising from it curled into the shape of finely cut jewels before dissipating.  
  
“Behold,” the Gourmet announced, “Emerald Essence. Made from the juice of the Verdant Crystal Pomegranate, which grows on a Persephone Bush left completely untouched by a living thing for a year. It once grew only in the Sky Island of Pegas, a scraggly, ugly plant easily lost amid the razor-sharp Thundergrass and most often devoured by the greedy pegasi. Now it is extinct, except for my own specimen I have carefully cultivated for your enjoyment.” Something about the way he said that last bit sounded predatory, as if he were the one salivating over the exotic dish.   
  
She caught a whiff of the scent, salty sea air mixed with a faint citrus. It brought to mind the warmer climate of Teargreen Peninsula, where Thumbelina Kingdom loomed within a mountain overlooking the sea. How long had it been since she’d been there, the land she hoped she could adopt as home? The essence shimmered when she stirred it, smooth and clear. What would something with such a nostalgic scent taste like? It was enough to briefly overcome her bouts of nausea. She lifted the spoon to her lips.  
  
“M-My lady?”   
  
She paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. How dare he interrupt her when she was about to taste this? She glared at him over her shoulder. “What?!”  
  
“Sorry, I just couldn’t remember your pseudonym.” Basil gave a nervous glance around the table and then looked back at Marjorie with alarm in his eyes. “But, what are you doing?”  
  
“Oh…oh! Right, I did say not to eat anything, didn’t I?” Marjorie inwardly scowled at herself, more for making up such a rule than failing to live up to it. She was here to rescue a friend and do a good deed and she’d put her body at risk for it; didn’t she deserve to partake of a treasure, too?  
   
“Yes. And you’re not. I mean, you’re not eating anything.”   
  
“Of course I’m not. I’m just going to sniff it…”  
  
“You’re not sniffing anything. Please, just look down!”  
  
Marjorie, tired of Basil’s uncharacteristically evasive wording, turned back to her bowl and saw an empty table. Her hand was empty.  
  
“…wait.”   
  
She stared at the other diners, who were all mimicking eating something and clearly enjoying it very much. They spoke to one another about its texture, flavor and scent, each describing something different. The entire table was empty and nobody seemed to notice.  
  
Turning back down to her spot, she squinted down. If she looked carefully, the image of the bowl flickered in and out, as did the scent. “An illusion spell,” she whispered into her ring. “But one powerful enough to encompass smell and texture. Maybe even taste.”  
  
The ring flickered as Philomene whispered from the other end of the device. “He isn’t even treating his guests to real food? What a terrible host. But to reproduce something that accurately he must have a real version of it somewhere.”  
  
The voice of the Gourmet filled the room again, and Marjorie quickly lowered her hand, pretending to set down a spoon she couldn’t see. “And now,” the host proclaimed, “please enjoy a wine made by the monks of the Fairy Queen Shrine, brewed for a hundred years in bottles of volcanic glass, while my court pianist plays a long forgotten song on the world’s only sugar glass piano. I…” Here the Gourmet seemed to twitch, his form wobbling like liquid for just a second. “I am afraid due to unforeseen circumstances, you shall not be able to hear a song I wrote for my prize harpist. He is, sadly, unable to play due to an injury. But you shall hear it by the end of the night, oh you shall…”  
  
This time, when a crystalline glass appeared filled with lava-red wine appeared, Marjorie ignored it. She turned to Basil, whispering into his hood. “Basil, did you hear-”  
  
“The odds that he speaks of another harpist aren’t high, are they?” Basil shuddered. “Do you think he caught poor Jack for running away with us?”  
  
“Then we’ve got two fools to rescue, don’t we? Listen, you go investigate. And…take the princess with you.” Marjorie whispered into the ring as she handed over the purse discreetly to Basil. “Princess-”  
  
“I’ll be fine, I promise. You had better stay safe too!” Philomene always did know how to whisper a command in the most inspiring way.   
  
“But, um, my lady.” Basil frowned. “You’ll be okay here, with him?”   
  
“I’m going to keep his attention as long as possible. Now go! Hurry. If anyone asks, say you’re looking for the facilities. They have to show you if they don’t want you making a mess in a nice place.” Marjorie urged Basil upwards, and within moments he rose and ducked into the shadows around the dining hall, Philomene’s purse safely in his cloak.  
  
Which left her alone, with a bunch of hedonistic strangers admiring wine they weren’t drinking and a corrupted fairy projecting some kind of illusion spell all over the place.   
  
“Well enough, well enough.” Marjorie took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.” She’d seen other diners rise from their seats before and make chit-chat with the Gourmet, who seemed quite able to converse politely whatever his condition might be. Momentarily, she rose casually and walked with as much grace as she could in her state, resisting the urge to pull the flower right out of her head every time she felt its leaves brush against her skull.  
  
“Sir! I just want you to know this has been extraordinary.” Marjorie gave him a practiced curtsy. “Absolutely stunning. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before!”  
  
The Gourmet smiled, and Marjorie was sure she saw too many teeth. More than he’d had in her last encounter with him. “I live only to please.” Behind, the diners were starting to carve at meat that wasn’t there and drank from nonexistent glasses. “I like to cultivate healthy appetites for the finer things in life. They ought to be enjoyed. Savored.”  
  
“Consumed?” Marjorie added, hoping her note of passive-aggression didn’t leak through.   
  
“Of a sort. But you know, once you consume something it’s gone. Forever! You have only the memories, and what good are those? But with food and drink, it can’t be helped. Now can it?”   
Cultivating appetites indeed. The diners would savor illusions that wouldn’t fill their stomachs, and hunger for what they couldn’t have without even realizing it. Marjorie almost admired that level of shamelessness, though she couldn’t for the life of her figure out the point of it.   
  
Playing along, she chuckled. “You have a good point. Quite the philosopher you are too, on top of everything!”  
  
“Indeed, I am. And one might argue a wish that can never be fulfilled is purer and will make one stronger. But that’s nothing to think about now! This is a night where I fulfill all wishes, like the captive spirits and fairies of old. And some wishes can easily be fulfilled. Yours, for instance.”  
  
Marjorie cleared her throat. “While I am quite fond of wine and piano music, I’m not sure what you-”  
  
“ _If die for someone else, it’ll make up for the terrible way I’ve lived before._ ” The Gourmet’s smile revealed much pointier teeth this time. “I personally think it wouldn’t, but whatever makes you happy.”  
  
Marjorie felt a shot of pain through her chest, and it was all she could do to keep a straight face through it. How did he know?   
  
“I am desire and hunger incarnate, you think I don’t know what people really want? That soldier wants to be reunited with her long lost love. The Flower wanderer over there wants to be taken more seriously and noticed more; why do you think he adorns himself with his wealth? And none of that has anything to do with me. I just offer them a night of expensive distraction and in return they give me their appetites. But I think I’ll make an exception for you.”  
  
“You…must be mistaken.” Marjorie lowered her eyes demurely, all the while running through his words in her head. He wasn’t lying; she’d had those thoughts more often than she’d liked to admit. She wouldn’t have gone along with it if she hadn’t. But Basil wanted to find Ezra. Philomene wanted to save Thumbelina, Ezra, and possibly Marjorie herself. If the Gourmet could sense that, was there even any point in trying to hide from him?   
  
The plan was unraveling around her like the petals of a blooming apple blossom.  
  
“It looks like you have a day or two left at least. Mirror won’t mind me keeping you here as long as I report the results of their experiment. Oh, they’ll complain, but they always do.”  
  
Mirror. Mirror. What was it about a mirror that sounded so unpleasantly familiar?   
  
The Gourmet stood up straight and once again looked far more human than he had seconds ago. “Now, why don’t you go back to your seat and enjoy the rest of the dinner? You earned it, and I think you will enjoy what I have to offer. Besides, you’re looking pale as snow. Not healthy.”  
  
Managing a weak laugh more out of spite than anything else, Marjorie bowed and walked stiffly back to her seat. She’d need a distraction far greater than playing prim and proper lady or self-loathing sacrifice, even if the latter role wasn’t too far off from the truth. Had she not happened to glance down at the cushioned chair, she wouldn’t have seen the sleek black and white cat curled up here, blinking up at her with big green eyes.  
  
“They’re serving the fish course now. Can I have some?”

* * *

Basil slipped through one of the many doors leading out of the dining hall, finding it surprisingly unguarded. Maybe the Gourmet figured any visitors who wandered off would end up lost in the labyrinthine palace and meet their eventual fate one way or another. Still, amid the lush red carpets and glittering walls, something seemed a bit off. A lamp lay on the ground, broken into pieces. One of the walls showed spider cracks where something must have slammed into it. There were the strangest marks in the carpet.  
  
Hoof prints?  
  
“So! Princess.” Basil had been given the communication ring along with Philomene, so she wouldn’t be trapped in silence inside her purse. “There are a lot of halls and twists here, and they all look pretty much the same. My first instinct is to charge down the first one I see and hope I find something useful, then repeat until I get into a fight, find Ezra and Jack, or get myself killed. Be honest with me: this is a stupid plan and I am terrible at plans.”  
  
“…It wouldn’t be my first choice,” Philomene admitted. “But I’m not seeing what you are! Look for anything suspicious and follow that trail.”  
  
“…There are hoof prints,” Basil said with a sigh. “And I think that’s manure up ahead.”  
  
There was a bit of a pause before the ring lit up again. “Well! A horse or something like that indoors certainly can’t be that normal, even in a place like this. We have nothing better to work with! Oh, and watch your step.”  
  
“I know, I know. At least it’s nice and warm in here.” Basil resisted the urge to run ahead, instead walking carefully as he followed the odd trail and kept an eye out for anyone approaching. “You think I haven’t had cow pat on my shoes before? I’m not too proud to milk a cow! Actually, come to think of it, that _is_ a cow pat. What in all the Mountain Lords…”  
  
“BASIL!” The bruised, desperate form of Jack came stumbling out of one of the doors, running right into the railway behind them. He might have gone over had Basil not pulled the smaller Jack back up. The boy had a black eye and a bruised lip, and he was shaking.  
  
“Jack?” Basil held Jack’s shoulders. “Jack, who did this to you? Tell me! It’s my job to protect the innocent, or-or whatever you are at the moment! Also, I think I need to warn you, the Gourmet may be onto-”  
  
“He is! He is. And I-I think he did something to _him_.”  
  
“To who?”  
  
Instead of answering, Jack stared at something behind Basil and yanked him down onto the carpet seconds before a large fist crashed right into the railing. It shattered entirely too easily, crumbling into bits of red hard candy. An impact like that should have hurt even a giant, but though the giant behind Jack was bleeding, he didn’t seem to notice.  
  
Ezra gasped for breath, and when he spoke it sounded stiff and unnatural. “I…I need to…do this. Will fix everything. Fix everything…!” The golden blindfold over his eyes gave off an unnatural yellow glow of magic.   
  
“…Oh. Ohhh. Oh no.” Basil, cupping Philomene’s purse in his hands, climbed back to his feet and tucked her back into his cloak. “Alright, Ezra? Are you in there? We need to talk. I can talk you through this. I know before I thought it would be fun to face you in battle, but you’re clearly not yourself and my feelings on that topic have changed since-you can’t hear me, can you?”   
  
Ezra didn’t even acknowledge Basil, instead charging forward towards a terrified Jack. Why was he targeting Jack, who didn’t even seem to have the harp with him anymore? What was that thing controlling Ezra? Oh, who cared? He could just cut it off!  
  
“…Princess, I’m going to jump. Brace yourself!” Basil bent his knees and thenran up to Ezra, avoiding the swing of one of his fists and using his arm as a step before briefly jumping onto his shoulder. “And Ezra, I’m going to try not to cut your face, but you’ll thank me later…!”   
  
As he leaped back down he brought the blade of the sword just over the blindfold, slicing through it and leaving a thin cut over Ezra’s eyebrow. Once Basil had landed behind the giant, he turned around to see Ezra leaning over, looking confused and shaking. Jack was just staring at both of them from the other side.  
  
Basil breathed a sigh of relief. “Ah, good! Never worry, Ezra, you were just under external control. Nasty magic, but I-Ezra? Now’s the time when you pick me up and embrace me for saving you, right? Or at least…what is that?” He looked back down at his sword, where the glowing thread of gold was growing quickly and wrapping around the blade. The other end was tied to the remains of the blindfold, one piece of which had fallen right on top of Jack.  
  
All were glowing and spreading, more like hairs than threads, as they wrapped all four of them into an embrace of blinding light.


	32. Threads I

  
“Basil? Prince Basil? Are you there?”  
  
Basil heard Philomene’s voice more clearly but could hardly see anything. Images of humanoid figures and warped landscapes flashed before his eyes, all wrapped in burning golden threads. The world spun about in a way that should have made him nauseous, had he been able to feel anything at all.   
  
“You’re going in and out-okay. Listen to me, Prince. I need you to concentrate. Concentrate on one thought and ground yourself. I’m pretty sure we just destabilized-well just follow my instructions! Think of one thing. Aurora! Think of Aurora.”  
  
Aurora! Yes, Aurora was easy to picture. From the warped, chaotic landscape he managed to draw the lumpy, hairy shape of his animal companion, fill her in with white fur and black claws, her beady eyes and comically tiny ears. He recalled her grunts and roars until they were real enough to come out of the dream-bear’s mouth. Around the image of Aurora the world seemed to finally stop, warping into a forest with trees that reached up impossibly high.   
  
The Aurora-image ambled over to him, though her movements were too stiff and unnatural. When she nudged her big head against his cheek, he couldn’t feel her thick, soft fur. But she was solid enough for him to lean on until he waited for the rest of the images to subside.   
  
“Okay. I think I have it now. Thank you, Princess. You were safe in that jump, weren’t you?” His hand went to the purse at his hip, only to find it gone. “…Princess?!”   
  
When he whipped his head around, he saw a smiling girl with dark skin and black hair in thick braids, leaning on a wooden cane. He recognized the broad details, the great flower-petal dress, the hairstyle and even the purple and gold ribbons, but something was terribly off.  
  
“Princess! I-is that you? Am I extremely small now? Or we’re both the same size? Oh, I don’t know!” He ran hands through his hair. “Could you explain what happened? You seem to be good at these things.”  
  
“It’s alright! Calm down, or you’ll lose your focus.” Philomene patted his arm, though it seemed to him there was a delay between her touch and the brush of his sleeve against his arm. “I don’t have a full grasp on what’s going on, but I’m not actually the same size as you right now. It’s just that I tend to think of myself as default-sized and humans as massive, and you probably think of yourself as default size. So we’re appearing as we think of ourselves. I’m so used to having a cane that I suppose I brought it with me here.”  
  
Basil opened one eye, still finding the shift in perspective nearly as disconcerting as his dizzy spell earlier. “What do you mean, appearing as we think of ourselves? Where are we?”  
  
“Well.” Philomene looked around at the massive, looming forest. “I have a suspicion, especially since I had to focus on something too in order to stabilize myself.” As she spoke, a ladybird beetle the size of a fat cat crawled by; the imaginary Aurora remained motionless. “Why don’t you review what happened with me so we can figure it out?”  
  
Basil described his encounter with the injured Jack and an uncharacteristically violent, blindfolded Ezra. “I thought he had to be in some sort of trance and figured the blindfold was the key, as why would he be wearing something over his eyes otherwise? So I thought I’d cut it and fix the problem promptly.”   
  
Philomene gave him a brief stare with her large brown eyes and smiled nervously. It was novel, seeing her facial expressions up close like that; she was clearly not good at hiding her thoughts. “I’m not entirely sure one’s first reaction upon encountering a potential magic object should be to try to break it. But,” she tacked on hastily, “you were acting on impulse to a stressful situation! I suspect you threw off whatever spell that cloth inflicted on Ezra, which probably involved trapping him in this dream world. Maybe it reacted to the curse in your body; with all the magic permeating the Gourmet’s palace I wouldn’t be surprised if something was unstable.” She paced in a little circle. “Still doesn’t explain a lot, though. Golden thread, golden thread. I remember something about that but can’t recall the details! The straw-into-gold alchemy technique seems completely irrelevant…”  
  
As Philomene mulled over the problem, bits of glowing golden thread popped up all around her, briefly warping into spools and spinning wheels before vanishing again. Basil coughed and pulled her aside. “Milady, be careful! If this place-dream world, you say?-is affected by our thoughts, I’d question the wisdom of over-thinking anything.”  
  
“Oh! Ah, yes, of course!” Philomene chuckled as the threads vanished. “I’m sure it will come to me. And I don’t think it’s exactly a dream world, but some sort of shared subconscious. If we were all caught in that spell, it’s drawing on all of our perceptions and likely hitting some average between them. You’re familiar with the forest, and I tend to see most of the world as, well, enormous.”   
  
“So, wait. If we’re in our minds or a dream or something like that, what are our bodies doing?” Basil looked around the seemingly endless forest, which just looked the same from any angle. “And where’s Jack? And shouldn’t Ezra be here, if he’s the one the spell is aimed at?”  
  
“All very good questions I can’t quite answer. I suspect we should look for our friends first.” Philomene took Basil’s hand as he helped her up onto the false Aurora. “It’s a shame our sense of touch isn’t quite working right here. I’d like to know what her fur feels like! But at any rate, I suspect Ezra’s the keystone to this whole construct. Find him and we’ll probably find the way to break the spell.”   
  
Basil didn’t have to nudge Aurora forward. She ambled through the woods, her movements stiff and not quite ‘right.’ It was too smooth and mechanical, and he found himself missing the real bear. “At least I’m not cold for once. I mean, I’m not warm either. It’s a sense of not feeling anything? Physically, at least.”  
  
“Temperature sensitivity is the realm of the body,” Philomene said. “At least we think so. That must be nice for you, at least! Just as it’s very nice to be able to see you at my height, despite the circumstances.”  
  
Basil wasn’t sure how much he liked feeling nothing. As painful as the cold could get at times, at least he knew it meant he had to bundle up further or find warmth as soon as possible. He didn’t much like being detached from his own body’s signals.   
  
At least the forest seemed to clear quickly. Basil concentrated on ‘find Jack’ and ‘find Ezra,’ and as he did the trees shrank rapidly. At the edge of the forest they warped into bushes and shrubs with fat succulent leaves, growing out of the white-grey surface of something soft and spongy. Basil peered down at the ground below and hesitantly put a foot down, feeling the surface give just enough to throw off his balance. It felt as if there was a very dense, compact liquid beneath a thick, rubbery layer, solid enough to support Basil even as it rippled under his feet. The sky around them was a bright, vivid blue, the sun blazing at its apex but somehow not blinding.   
  
“I think this might be Ezra’s part of the mind, at any rate. This substance looks like a cloud,” Basil said as he helped Philomene off of Aurora’s back. “Even if it doesn’t feel like one. And I heard the Cloud Islands aren’t really clouds at all. So he must be thinking of home!…I mean, his old home.” Did Ezra really want to return to the Sky after all? It seemed a sensible desire after what had happened to him, and yet the idea of it stung.   
  
More trees were sprouting up around Basil as he spoke, taking on the same whitish hue as the ‘cloud.’ The effect suggested giant cauliflower. Likewise, huge blossoms and leaves welled up around Philomene, who observed the phenomenon carefully.  
  
“I think we’re contaminating the dreamscape with our own minds. That’s, erm, potentially dangerous.” Philomene rubbed the back of her neck. “Nothing worth panicking over! Certainly nothing you’d want to lose your focus and concentration over. The study of thought-sharing magic and mind-body separation hasn’t gone very far. There is a theory out there that too much cross-contamination by multiple subjects can result in partial loss or even dissolution of the individual self…”  
  
“Could-could you rephrase that thing which absolutely isn’t worth panicking over?” Basil was starting to feel the world blur again, and had to stare at one of the cauliflower trees to steady himself. “Concentrating is a little difficult for me sometimes, so please…!”  
  
“We could lose our sense of self and collapse our identities into one unstable whole with Ezra and Jack, forever trapped in a sea of indistinguishable thoughts until our bodies died of thirst.” Philomene shot that statement out at rapid-fire, stopping to catch her breath before adding with a little smile, “but that’s pure theory! It just means we should act quickly and not think about it, seeing as we’re all pure thought right now.”  
  
“Not-not think about…Princess, you can’t tell me about something and then tell me not to think about it!” Basil threw his hands in the air, steadying his concentration once more before trudging over the thick cloud surface. “Okay, no, no, I can focus. Think of it as a threat Prince Charming would brave without fear to reach the one I-well, the one I was at least trying to save in a more dashing manner before.”  
  
“Well, I just thought it was your right to know the risk,” Philomene said with a mumble as she followed. They didn’t have to walk long before the fog around them cleared to reveal a single structure, a large cottage with walls and a roof of fresh gingerbread. The building was studded with enormous hard candies, swirling peppermints and licorice, all of it held together by fluffy white icing. Oven smoke puffed out of an oatmeal cookie chimney.   
  
Philomene stopped to lean on her cane. “Well, I think we’ve found Ezra. Or at least his location. -Basil, don’t eat that! It’s made of his thoughts!”  
  
“I wasn’t going to eat it,” a scowling and blushing Basil insisted as he pulled his hand away from a peppermint. “I was just curious to see if it was really made of candy. I don’t think Ezra used to live in a place like this, though, or he would have said so. Do you think he knows how to make one?”  
  
Philomene sighed. “I’m beginning to see why Marjorie thought it was best she stand in at the banquet and you sneak around with me instead of the other way around. At any rate, if we can just find the door-wait.” She paused. “Do you hear that? Around the corner.”  
  
The soft sound, not quite a gasp and not exactly a sob, echoed again from the other side of the house. Basil held up a finger to his mouth and crept around the corners of the unfairly delectable-looking dream building, stopping when he came to the back of the cottage. Where there might have been a vegetable garden instead grew a veritable jungle of enormous beanstalks, towering up to the sky as the trees in the forest had despite having been invisible from the other side of the house. They were bright vivid green, standing out against the gray and white of the Cloud Island. When Basil peered all the way up, he saw a dark shape clinging to the top of one of the stalks, too big to be human.  
  
And leaning against the back of the house, so tiny he barely came up to Basil’s knee, was Jack. He sat dwarfed by a too-bright, simplified version of the harp, hiding his face in his knees and shaking.   
  
“…Jack?” Basil took one step closer. “Princess, I thought you said we were all the same size here.”  
  
“Not necessarily. I said we see ourselves as the ‘default size,’” Philomene said. “Jack must be perceiving himself as smaller for some reason. And this much of a distortion so close to Ezra is very dangerous. Let me try. I at least know what it’s like to be loomed over.” She stepped closer to the tiny Jack and knelt next to him, speaking in a soft voice. “Jack, can you hear us?”  
  
Jack stopped shaking, slowly looking up at Philomene and then doing a double-take. “Who’re you?”  
  
“It’s me, Philomene. You know, from Marjorie’s pocket?”  
  
“…Am I that small?” Jack stared at her and a blush formed on his cheeks before he looked away.  
  
“It’s all perception here! So you just need to remind yourself that you’re the ‘normal’ size and we’ll all balance out so we can find Ezra. Alright?” She held out a hand, which Jack didn’t take. “Just concentrate on something, please…!”  
  
“…But I’m not normal-sized.” Jack looked back up at the two, leaning against the harp. “At least I don’t feel it. Not after seeing him like that. Ezra’s in there. I peeked in, and I can’t-I can’t go back in there to face him!” He shook like a leaf in the wind.  
  
The shape on the beanstalk bellowed something deep and incoherent, and Jack curled back up again.  
  
“Why would-oh, oh. Oh.” Basil thought back to Jack’s black eye and bruises; the boy still had them even in the dreamscape. “Oh Jack, he didn’t mean it! He was under a spell controlling him. Ezra would never hurt you intentionally. Trust me, I’m someone who expected him to be a violent and dangerous giant! Honestly kind of hoped for it,” he added, disgusted at himself in retrospect.  
“Long story. But Ezra has a heart of puff pastry under all that bulk and that frown of his. It’s the Gourmet’s fault for using him like this.”  
  
“I know! I know he didn’t mean it. That made it worse in a way! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was frightened. He’s strong as two prize bulls.” Jack shuddered, shrinking a little further. “But I knew somehow he wasn’t himself. He ought to take a few swing at me; would only be fair. He wouldn’t even be down here if it weren’t for me, right?”  
  
The deep thunder shouts started up again, this time clearer. “Little rat! Worm! Give it back! I can’t live without it! You’ll just sell it. You can’t appreciate it…!”  
  
“I didn’t want to kill anyone,” Jack continued. “But I did. If I hadn’t gone up there, Ezra’s boss would still be alive.”  
  
“And Ezra would still be up there with him, being horribly mistreated. Marjorie said he looked exhausted when she first met him, like someone had been sucking the life out of him. He seemed honestly surprised by kindness.” Philomene spoke in a soft, gentle tone.   
  
“Kindness can be a surprise if you’re not used to it,” Jack admitted. “But I’m not sure what you’re gettin’ at…”  
  
“I think wondering whether or not you should or should not have gone up there isn’t going to help anyone. You were starving, weren’t you? And Ezra was suffering. The Vine grew as it will, and you both chose to follow it in your own way.” Philomene sat down next to Jack, her dress billowing out. It was odd to see her looking huge in comparison to someone.   
  
“Oh, enough!” Basil marched forward, crossing his arms and looking down at Jack. “Do you think sitting around and moping about is going to help Ezra at all? Or make up for your mistakes? Why do you think everyone who saw you cut down that beanstalk and defeat that giant saw you as a hero? Why do you suppose rumors spread of your glory so far and so fast it even reached the little villages on the outskirts of the Blue Forest?”   
  
Jack stared up at him with eyes like saucers. “I-I don’t know!”   
  
“It’s because they saw someone huge and violent threatening someone small and wily who used his wits and his bravery to stay alive. They didn’t get the whole story, so they made one up that gave them a hero facing insurmountable odds. They needed a hero who won against something big and insurmountable because they were surrounded by ‘giants’ everywhere. Crop shortages, wars, the Empress’s laws and taxes, bad families, dangerous home situations they couldn’t escape, maybe even curses of their own. Mountains above, even the giants have giants they fear! Even they need a hero or a-or a Prince Charming sometimes.”  
  
“But it’s not true,” Jack insisted, though Basil thought he looked an inch taller. “It’s a lie, and it’s unfair. The giants didn’t cause all those problems.”  
  
“You’re absolutely right. It’s-it’s not fair to pin all your fears and troubles on other people and turn them into monsters.” Basil wasn’t sure where all this was coming from. He found himself speaking as soon as the thoughts came to him, almost as if he were working this out for himself rather than Jack. “Whether they’re giants or humans or-anything else.” As he spoke, the brief image of a wolf flickered around him for just a second. “So who do you think can do anything about that? Someone like Ezra, who’s going to be feared by humans and was exiled from his own kind? Or someone like you, who has the respect of children who are growing up just as hungry and lost as you are and who can speak with the powerful in the Empress’s own city?”  
  
Jack was silent for a moment, as the beanstalks started to shrink and wither away. The harp shrank too, or else Jack’s size was evening out. “I didn’t think of it that way.”  
  
“Sometimes you just need a perspective change to see things from another angle.” Philomene smiled at him, apparently oblivious of how red Jack turned whenever she did that. “After all, there’s always someone who sees something in you that you don’t.” For a moment, an image of Marjorie sitting next to her flickered, disappearing in a puff of apple blossom petals.   
  
“If you don’t want to be the sort of hero you’re seen as, then stand tall and be the kind of hero you want to be!” Basil held his hand out. “Even if you’re not sure what that is yet. Jack, will you help us save Ezra? This is a lot bigger than him.”  
  
Jack stared at the hand; behind them and all around them, the beanstalks withered away. Tooth’s shouts were the last to go, drowned out by the wind.   
  
Then he smiled for one of the first times since Basil had run into him, taking Basil’s hand and standing up. The difference was startling; he suddenly towered over both of them.  
  
“Hey,” Basil protested, craning his neck upwards with a scowl. “When I said ‘stand tall’ I didn’t mean it like that! I was enjoying being the tallest for once, you know…”  
  
“Perception,” Philomene reminded him with a giggle.   
  
Jack sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Felt I ought to live up to the size of that responsibility you gave me there. Thanks, Basil! That was real heroic of you.”   
  
“Heroic…?” Basil perked up, unable to hide a grin. But all he’d done was talk! He’d never get the hang of this Prince Charming thing. “Ah, anyway! Our dear, deluded friend awaits and I’d like to help him before we find ourselves dissolving.”  
  
“Dissolving?” Jack asked, scratching his head.   
  
“Don’t ask and don’t think about it! The doors, the doors, yes…” Basil pulled the heavy gingerbread door open and stepped in.  
  
The inside was snug and cozy, brightly lit by crackling lamps filled with bottled lightning. Ezra turned away from a flour-covered counter to greet them, smiling. His arms were bound tightly by the thick gold threads hanging from the ceiling, like strands of spider web. 


	33. Threads II

_“You made me remember.”  
  
“You with the lineage of stars, with eyes gold as the Sun?”  
  
“Honestly, I always thought he was a little chaotic. From birth, I mean. Punishment for his mother using magic. Not to say she did for certain, but if you ask me…”_  
  
Ezra turned to face the new customers, forcing himself to smile despite the whispers coming from the gold threads wrapped around his wrists and neck. He would play out the rest of the dream and then wake up. That had to work. His customers would expect a pleasant greeting.  
  
“Hello! Anything I can help you with? Today we have a special on…” He trailed off as he made eye contact with the newcomers. He knew them.  
  
The words evaporated, along with the walls of the dream-bakery. There was nothing but darkness, then distorted, discolored projections of memories all over, a storm of color and sound. The gold threads remained ever-present, grating against his consciousness as something alien.   
  
“No! No no no! I can’t lose control of it again!” There it was, the sense of slowly unraveling in a sea of his own thoughts. His own and others that didn’t belong there, ones that felt as invasive as the threads. He wanted to smooth them over the way an oyster was said to form a pearl out of debris. The urge pulled at him to ease them into himself, integrate them so they wouldn’t tear him apart. Just pull them in and wipe them out…  
  
“EZRA, STOP!”  
  
With Basil’s voice-that was Basil, yes, Basil!-the flood of memories eased into a trickle, slowing into a coherent flow. What was his came back to him more clearly. Of course that was Basil. Of course he knew who those other three were. He saw the Market, the cottage, Marjorie on the bed, how he’d ended up in the Gourmet’s castle…  
  
There was Philomene’s voice in the darkness. “Ezra, listen. This is going to be more difficult because you’re the fulcrum of-oh, I’ll explain later! You need to focus. Concentrate on one thing. You can regain control! Just don’t lose yourself!”   
  
Focus. Ezra needed someplace comfortable and safe. Before it had been the dream-bakery; with his mind under such stress, he needed something simpler and fresher in his memory. He thought of that table in his forest cottage, the one he used for making dough. From there the rest of the little cottage room grew around him, clouding out the last of the color-storm. He was sitting in that chair, and the others were standing around him. They were the same size as he was here, save for Jack who towered at what Sky-height must have looked like to humans. He knew that was incorrect, but was too exhausted to try to correct it.  
  
Gold threads still tied his wrists and neck, and now bound him to the chair. They hung from the ceiling like the strands of a shimmering spider web.   
  
Finding the power of speech again, Ezra looked at the others, his smile gone. “You…you shouldn’t be here.”  
  
Basil shook his head. “Don’t start! Of course we’d come to find you. You’re one of us!” Ezra noted that there were no gold strands attached to them.  
  
“I-thank you. But you shouldn’t put yourself in danger for me.” Ezra shuddered and put his head in his hands. “I remember everything clearly now. I stole something important from Marjorie in some sort of haze. I think I’m still under the Gourmet’s spell, at least in some way. I didn’t even remember you all until I saw you here, though I knew I’d lost something…” He paused and looked up again, squinting. “…Jack?”  
  
Jack lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, hey. I-wanted to sort of-kind of wanted to make up for-”  
  
“No,” Ezra interrupted, “it’s…I knew you didn’t mean any harm. I can’t say I wasn’t angry at the time, but it’s like it’s gone out. I’m just sort of numb.” He felt the threads tighten further around him, the only sensation he could feel in that dream world. “I don’t even know what’s going on. I made the Gourmet angry when I resisted his spell. No! It was when I made him remember something, entirely by accident. He overpowered me, and the next thing I knew I was here. Somehow I knew I wasn’t in my body, but I couldn’t get back. Can’t get back.”  
  
“It’s a magical item,” Philomene said, hands clasped together in front of her. “I’m not entirely sure how it works, but from the sound of it I expect the Gourmet is using it in a last-ditch attempt to exert control over you. Which is odd, as he didn’t try to do that to Jack.” She smiled in what Ezra assumed was an attempt to be reassuring. “Don’t worry! We can think our way through this. Literally!” He had to assume that was her from her voice and general look, though he’d never seen her face up close before. Seeing everyone at eye-level was surreal; in another situation it might have been comforting. He would remember it.  
  
The room started to shimmer red, like walls made of hardened sugar. Ezra’s eyes widened. “Did you come all the way to the Vacant Palace for me?!”  
  
“Hmph! Prince Charming and his comrades will travel to the ends of the world to save a-” Basil seemed to flush a little in the cheeks. “A friend. “Miss Marjorie is outside, distracting him during his dinner party.”  
  
“Your own body has probably been acting on autopilot,” Philomene said. “Doing what the Gourmet wants it to do.”   
  
“His dinner party! That’s right, he wanted me to cook the dessert. He even gave me access to magic recipes, some of which I was even able to pull off. Then I found myself wondering where all that food was going, since he certainly didn’t eat it or sell it, and that’s when everything started falling apart.” Ezra wanted to start pacing, but the threads bound him to his chair. “Marjorie put herself in danger for my sake as well? All of you did? Even you, Jack? No! No, this isn’t right! I’m-I never wanted to bring trouble to my first real friends!”   
  
Basil set a hand on his shoulder just as Ezra’s room started to ripple and warp again, and the walls steadied. “It’s alright, Ezra! Trust us to know when it’s worth sticking our necks out, won’t you? I’m sure sooner or later I’ll bring trouble on the heads of the lot of you, so consider this premature penance on my part.”  
  
“And I brought a heap of trouble on you,” the inexplicably big Jack added with a mumble. He seemed to shrink a bit as he did. “Seem to be good at that. Figure if I wanted to change it, ought to start with you.”  
  
Ezra sat there silently, looking around at them. Usually he would wilt under so much attention. But they weren’t staring, or judging. They were just smiling, giving him sympathetic glances devoid of pity. They all came for him, even after everything that had happened. Even after he’d lost Philomene and stolen Marjorie’s apple.  
  
“…Thank you.” This time when he smiled, it felt relaxed, almost natural. Why was he so afraid to smile anyway? It was such a relief to do so freely. “I’ll tell you more when we get out of here. I just have to wake up and-”  
  
The threads lit up, burning hot and blindingly white, searing the illusory walls away. They pulled him back, away from his friends and into a well of darkness lit only by those terrible spider web threads.   
  
“Ezra!” He heard Philomene’s panicked cry, though it was too dark to see her.   
  
“Ezra, hold on! What’s going on? These gold things are everywhere! Can you make it stop doing that?!” That was Basil, sounding more distant. He was sure the scream of panic was Jack.   
  
And the threads began to whisper again.  
  
_“You made me remember.”  
  
“How irresponsible, to live happily in the Center of the Universe while you squander your potential! What would your ancestors say?”_  
  
“You made me remember. You. YOU.” Ezra knew the voice coming out of the thread wrapping itself around him like a snake. “Who gave you the right? Arrogant Sky brat! I saw your potential! I had faith in you! I thought you might be able to do it!”  
  
“Do what?!” Ezra struggled against the threads, managing to lift his hands to his throat and pull at his binds. “What did you do with them? Where are they!?”   
  
“Surely a Kettle recipe would be enough. Surely! And yet nothing you cooked fulfilled me. Nothing fulfills! But no more. You’ll cook for me until you die,” the Gourmet snarled. “I will remember you. I will remember you so your soul haunts these halls.”  
  
Ezra squeezed at the binds, glaring. “SHUT UP! You took them from me! You told me working for you would make me happy after you took what I actually wanted! It’s you who has the gaping hole inside, isn’t it? You just want to convince everyone else they’re hollow and hungry so they’ll fill you up!” He tore at one of them, attempting to split it in two; it began to fray in his hands. “Bring them back…!”  
  
_I’m strong,_ he thought. _I know I’m strong, so why shouldn’t my mind be stronger? Those three came all the way to save me. Marjorie is risking her life outside for me. I don’t know what they see in me, but I can’t let them down after all this…!_  
  
The binds tightened around him even as the Gourmet fell silent, glowing white-hot once more. He screamed, that intrusive feeling returning to him. He fell to his knees, standing on nothing in the vacant, dark dreamscape. “I can do this,” he whispered. “I can do this. Just wake up. I just need to wake up. I can do this alone…!”  
  
“No, you can’t.”   
  
Ezra blinked and looked around, desperately searching for the source of the voice. That was Philomene, wasn’t it? She had to be somewhere.   
  
“Princess?”  
  
He remembered her advice about focusing. With his mind under such stress, he knew he wouldn’t be able to recreate the cottage again. Instead he tried to imagine something much simpler, something to root himself before he was completely pulled into the darkness. There was a table. There was butter, sugar, flour. It was his family’s pastry recipe, the last one his mother passed on to him before her death. He couldn’t remember her face or voice anymore, but he could recall that.   
  
He briefly heard the soothing strums of a harp.  
  
And there were three pairs of hands at the table along with his. When he looked up, he saw his friends, standing around him. They were all the same size again, even Jack, and he met and made eye contact with all of them in order to memorize their faces at this angle. Of course, he’d long since committed Basil’s to memory. He wouldn’t let anything take that from him again.  
  
“That was odd,” Basil said, picking off bits of torn thread. “Good thing I’m a master swordsman in my own mind, eh? Ezra, what was that?”  
  
“I can answer that.” Philomene was speaking quickly, a sure sign she was nervous. “We’re in Ezra’s mind, and he’s the fulcrum of the spell. That’s why those threads keep going after him.”  
  
“The Gourmet seems to have some weird fixation on me among his current treasures,” Ezra added ruefully. “I don’t understand it.”  
  
“Because of all that pressure, you can’t break out of this alone, Ezra! You’d risk destroying your own mind and memories, or put so much mental stress on yourself that you’d be unable to extricate your mind from ours. You’re just one consciousness, and probably still reeling from the Gourmet’s memory fragmentation spell.” Philomene bit her lip. “But with four minds…”  
  
“You mean we can help, right?” Basil beamed. “I knew it! I knew I could actually save you! I mean, we. We could save you.”  
  
“In a way. We would briefly have to make mental contact with each other and share our consciousnesses. It’s dangerous,” Philomene warned. “Remember how I said we could risk losing our individual selves? This would increase that risk tenfold if it goes wrong. But a united front would be much stronger against this spell. We can overload it and overpower it, as long as we can extricate ourselves afterward. The chances of success are-”  
  
“Don’t tell me the chances, please.” Ezra managed to stand up, pulling against those awful binds. “I’m sorry, it seems I’m pulling you into more trouble. I’ll make up for it…”  
  
Basil scowled, smacking his hands on the table and tossing up a cloud of flour. “Would you stop that? You don’t need to make it up to any of us! You know how long I’ve wanted to actually help someone? In a concrete way that I understood? I’d certainly prefer a nice sword fight, but if I have to lend you my mind instead then so be it!”  
  
“Just to warn you, you might see things we don’t usually reveal to one another.” Philomene smiled weakly. “Promise to keep secrets, right?”  
  
Jack was the last to speak, and he did so without making eye contact. “I’m pretty used to being thought of as stupid, and I know there’s some not-so-nice things going on in my head. Promise not to judge? At least not where I can hear you…”  
  
“I promise it all, as long as you all promise to make it back into yourselves after! I know I’m bigger but there’s only room for me inside of me.” _Good Sun_ , Ezra thought, _I’m trying to joke at a time like this! And I’m not very funny._  
  
Jack held hands with Philomene, blushing at her in a way she didn’t seem to notice. She set her hand on Basil’s arm. Basil gave Ezra a warm smile that made him want to turn to jelly, holding onto Ezra’s elbow. Jack was a bit more hesitant, but he grabbed Ezra’s other shoulder.  
  
Philomene closed her eyes. “Now this is the tricky part. Just let go. Feel yourself letting go and opening up. We-we have to trust each other. You trust us, right Ezra?”  
  
At this point, having remembered who Basil and Philomene were, Ezra was sure he trusted them with his life. If Marjorie were there he’d feel the same way about her, lying tendencies and all. But Jack was different. He knew on a conscious level that Jack couldn’t have been the treacherous thief he’d thought the boy to be once. He saw sincerity and guilt in Jack’s eyes. But the last time he’d trusted Jack, it had gone terribly wrong.  
  
Then again, Jack was there. He’d gone so far as to chase Ezra into his own consciousness to help him. Ezra knew he didn’t have to like Jack, but there had to be something about the boy worth trusting.  
  
“Alright. I can do this.” Ezra tried to relax as best he could in those constricting binds. “On one, two-”  
  
_Cold, cold, why is it always cold? A city of tunnels studded with jewels, lit with glowing, greenish-white vines. The feel of a polar bear’s fur against one’s face. I can’t let Mother sell her harp, it’s all she has of her old life. I’m sorry, Pearl. He could preserve the gingerbread cottage with his own preservation spell, as long as she kept providing to him and making him stronger. Have you been stealing sugar from me, you wretched little charity case? You think anyone would defend you in court if you defy me?! I own you! Sorry, Basil, it’s just not safe for you to come along to the winter festival. No one’s forgotten you! This is Marjorie, and she’s going to look after you. She’s sworn to you on behalf of the House of Snow, and if she ever betrays you we shall take her life. Ketyl, first master of Hearth Magic. Mars, first master of Battle Magic. First master of Transformation magic, name since lost to history. I need more! I need more, to make the hunger go away! I need to fill it up so I can forget what I used to be! Knead with warm hands for ten minutes until the dough bounces back. Make sure the water isn’t too cold or it’ll kill the yeast. Put your heart into it, my son. I hate this! I want to go mouse-riding and bug-hunting with the other kids, but it hurts too much! It’s always so cold. Is it going to be like this until I die? At least the goose is okay. It flew off but it’s so big, I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m sorry, Ezra! It’s just pragmatism. I just wanted to study the apple for pragmatic reason. I have to think of what’s best for Thumbelina. I can balance that with my friendships, right? I really should tell him how I feel. But it would never work because, because…! Remember to put your heart into everything you make. That’s the key to our…_  
  
_Ezra. I am Ezra, last of the Kettles, exiled from Mielle Sky Island. I serve the Sun and the Moon in Their glory, even if I live in the Center of the Universe. One day I will be a Hearth Mage. I am-I want to-I love-_  
  
All of them heard the sound of threads snapping, though they saw nothing.

* * *

  
Ezra was still Ezra. He was in his body, which ached of overwork, thirst and hunger, and never before had he been so relieved to feel all those things. He was warm, too, pressed up against others. Why was that?  
  
When he opened his eyes, he saw why. He’d been on autopilot according to Philomene, hadn’t he? Yet he was apparently hugging Basil and Jack close to him, enveloping them both in his arms. Philomene was clearly in that pouch Basil had with him; in a way, he was hugging her too.  
  
He stepped away quickly, face a little flushed. Basil did the same, coughing and laughing nervously. “There!” Basil declared, voice cracking briefly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? And I didn’t see anything! Didn’t see a thing. At least-to be honest, it’s already starting to fade…”  
  
Basil’s ring flickered and projected Philomene’s voice. “That was-that was an interesting experience. But it seems we came out of it alright! Good job, everyone. I can’t quite recall what I saw, either. It’s like a dream you can’t remember after.”  
  
Ezra could remember everything, every stray thought. He wasn't sure whose belonged to whom, but he had strong guesses. The Gourmet had been in there, too. It left him feeling somehow itchy inside, knowing that.  
  
He couldn't think of anything to say about those memories, and recalled Philomene-whose face he might never see in close up again, he thought sadly-asking him to respect privacy. Instead he just looked down at them, and assessed his surroundings. They were standing in the kitchen, now abandoned; from the ingredients spread out on the counter, the Gourmet apparently had forced him to cook while he was under the blindfold’s control. Maybe he'd carried Basil and Jack there, or perhaps they had just followed. The blindfold itself had fallen to the ground in pieces, the golden threads burnt black.   
  
He'd almost forgotten how small humans were, and how amazing they could be.  
  
“Did we just...ha! We broke another one of his things.” Ezra kicked it for good measure, and then looked back up at his comrades. “And we’re intact! At least it seems like we are. And I remember! Maybe the Sun was looking out for us after all.” He felt tears sting his eyes. “Thank you! Oh thank you, I can’t believe you-Jack!” Color drained from his face when he saw the boy’s black eye, bloody lip and bruises. “Oh, no, no! Did I-”  
  
“I’m fine! You weren’t you,” Jack said, though he was notably keeping a bit more distance now that he was back in his comparatively small body. “I’m durable, so don’t even worry about it.”  
  
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. For that, for dragging you all into this, for falling for that charlatan’s spell.” Ezra turned away to face the doorway. “I promise, from now on it’ll…it, um.”   
  
He’d lost his train of thought, staring at the scene through the doors. Doors which were off their hinges.   
  
The hallways were overrun with cats of every size and color, the Gourmet’s various treasures strewn about haphazardly. Something red and syrupy was beginning to drip from the ceiling, which appeared to be gradually melting. There were screams and shouts everywhere, and at least one moo.   
  
The entire palace shook abruptly, quaking from some sort of massive impact. It stopped as quickly as it started, this time leaving Ezra rather clinging to Basil and Jack out of instinct.  
  
“Ezra? Basil? Jack?” Philomene asked through the ring. “Did something happen? What did we miss?”  
  
“That,” Ezra decided, “is a very good question.”


	34. The Catalyst

The black and white cat licked one of her paws and looked up at Marjorie as if her sudden presence at a secret banquet for the rich and awful made perfect sense. She blinked slowly and stretched. “You smell like leaves.”  
  
“Thank you?” Marjorie took a deep breath. She was in the palace of an Other One; she ought to expect oddity upon oddity. “Nonetheless, dear little thing, I am rather busy right now…”  
  
“With a plan that’ll fail. He wants what you have to offer,” the cat purred. The other guests remained oblivious to her presence, even the Flowerling at the end of the table. “But he still wants that other thing more. No, two. Two other things.”  
  
Marjorie gave one last glance around to make sure no one was paying attention to her sudden conversation with a cat. Even the Gourmet himself seemed preoccupied and increasingly agitated, storming around at the corners of the stage asking his servants about something. She thought she saw a thread of gold glow briefly on his coat, but it vanished.  
  
“Alright, cat.” She stood behind her chair and looked down at the feline. “Do talk, if you know so much. In fact, you really shouldn’t even know what it is I’m trying to do here at all.”  
  
“Of course I know! We’re all around. We listen to him and watch him even if he can’t see us.” The cat flicked her tail around, and as Marjorie followed it with her gaze she saw kittens poking their heads out here and there, a pair of ears, the tracks of cat paws. How had she not seen them before? She’d taken such care to memorize her environment!  
  
Except that she was also in an area with mind-influencing spells, and in a fragile physical state. Already she could feel an ache around the throat, and the pounding in her head made her wish the wine the other guests were dazzled over was real.   
  
“I am Misty, of the Forgotten Cats. Or Schroedinger’s Cat Clan, if you support Schroedinger as our leader. He thinks he can make that claim because he’s the biggest.” Misty snorted, or sneezed. Marjorie couldn’t tell, having little experience with cats. “I heard you say the word Ezz-rah.”  
  
“You know-” Marjorie realized she was raising her voice, and disguised it with a cough.  
  
“One of the Double-Humans like Cecily. We like her, so we liked him. But he has the Gourmet’s attention, even moreso than this banquet. I’m surprised the Gourmet can maintain his magic here as well as he is when he’s trying so hard to keep Ezra under control.”  
  
Marjorie watched the cat carefully, narrowing her eyes. “Your presence here is a little suspicious. Especially if he’s overlooking you.”  
  
“And you’re in over your head, leafy human.”  
  
“And I’m talking to a cat. Ugh! I don’t get it. It seems like he’s happy to have a Golden Apple Tree…”  
  
Misty trilled, licking her paw again. “I think it’s because he knows he has you. It makes him happy, but it means he’ll grow bored of you sooner or later. That’s why we’re all so surprised he’s putting so much energy into Ezra. Maybe it’s because he thought he might lose Ezra, or the harp. Both seem to be slippery.”  
  
“…Of course. He’s oriented towards hunger. The thing he wants most is what he doesn’t have.” _And_ , Marjorie added silently, _he has me. He knows I hold little value over my life. Of course, if I die here and now a fat lot of good it’s going to do the Princess and the others._  
  
But the Golden Apple Tree growing inside of her body was the most valuable thing she had. It was her life, or rather it was slowly eating away at her life. She could already feel sharp pains in her chest and tried not to think of something taking roots in her lungs. She had the herbs, but taking them now would mean the Gourmet would lose her, and either lash out or reject her. Neither situation was ideal.  
  
“What happens if all the Gourmet’s focus is directed in one place, lovely little cat?” To coax a truthful answer from the tuxedo cat, Marjorie scratched behind her ears.  
  
“Oh! Oh, yes, that is exactly my itchy spot. Thank you, leafy human! And I’m not sure. His focus and his magic might be one and the same. Rumors abound among those who still take interest in him. My sister’s mate’s father’s rival’s mate’s kitten from her first litter said she heard from the Oracular Cat that-”  
  
“The what?”  
  
Misty gave Marjorie a withering look. “Well, of course one of us is an Oracular Cat. It’s genetic. That’s why his great-grandmother ended up here. He thinks the Gourmet’s magic is his entire ‘self,’ and if someone wanted to do something to him, for whatever obviously innocent reason,” here Misty twitched her whiskers, “they’d want all of him gathered in one place.”  
  
“And the thing he wants most is what he can’t have.” Or, Marjorie noted, something either Ezra or that harp have. Maybe both. Interesting. Was there really something to that whole culinary magic thing Ezra was attempting? It had struck her as rather weak and rudimentary. She wanted to buy Philomene’s optimism, but she suspected Philomene was just looking for anything to save Thumbelina at that point.  
  
Which, Marjorie realized, meant she had no real, practical justification for risking her life to save a friend who was not Philomene and was doing it anyway. Well, she certainly didn’t need to justify her own actions to herself of all people. She’d compartmentalize and worry about that later.   
  
“So he wants what he can’t have, hmm. Sounds like a riddle.” Marjorie let the ghost of a smile cross her face. “But, back home, I had a few jobs around the kingdom. Including jester. And we do love riddles.” She picked up Misty and set her down on the carpet before sitting down on her chair. “And performances.”  
  
Based on the conversation, a soft cheese and bread course was being served. She could no longer see it as more than a thin, faint projection on the empty table. She overheard talk about ‘lunar milk’ and ‘isolated farms’ and waited for her chance while seeking out her target. Well, there was the decorated Ever After imperial general. She looked self-consciously pompous enough.  
  
“I say,” Marjorie cooed, “is that an Emerald Amulet?” She could feel her heartbeat increasing slowly and hoped she was able to maintain an image of placid elegance while she honestly would have preferred to pass out. “Awarded by Her Imperial Eternity herself for cunning in battle?”  
  
“Well, yes! Yes it is.” The general grinned, giving the hanging medal a little tap with her gloved finger. “Got it in my younger days when we beat the Green Hood Rebellion. Would have been before you were born, I imagine!” She gave a throaty laugh. “Only wish I could have seen the Empress herself, but don’t we all? Ah, but don’t think my wits have gone any duller in this era of peace, young lady!”  
  
Marjorie secretly reveled in the relief that the general was bragging about a rebellion, and not one of the Fire Opal conflicts. The last thing she wanted to do was spark a potential argument with the Opalese couple sitting nearby. “I see it! The cunning in your eyes, General. I’m sure you must see it, then.”  
  
The general blinked, confusion crossing her sun-lined face. “See it?”  
  
“Oh, I should explain. Silly me!” Marjorie cast her gaze downward and held out one of her bare arms. She tried to ignore the faint green tinge to the veins in her wrist and hoped nobody else saw them. She sighed melodramatically. “You see, this shawl is a gift from my late grandmother, a powerful sorceress. It’s woven from the silk of the elusive Markenscam Spider. Only the most intelligent, insightful and important individuals can see Markenscam silk. Sadly, fools like me can’t see anything!” She bit her lip. “Still, I thought I’d bring it and wear it to such an event. I’m sure, you know, at least one of you can see its brilliant colors. I shall live on vicariously through you…”  
  
The conversation at the table died to a faint, confused murmur. The well-dressed guests looked to one another, then right at her, clearly trying their hardest to see thin air.  
  
Marjorie thought she saw the Gourmet glance her way. She held her breath and poise. Either it worked, or she would look like a fool and would need a new plan. As it was, she wasn’t sure she had time for a new plan.  
  
It was the Flowerling with the wide-brimmed hat and clinking jewelry who spoke first, gawking convincingly through striking red bangs. "It's...magnificent! I have never seen anything else like it! You're truly missing out if you can't see it."  
  
That seemed to break the ice. Marjorie wanted to collapse in relief as the other party guests chimed in, all unwilling to admit to being less intelligent than the speaker before.  
  
“The colors are so vivid!”  
  
“And it shimmers with your every movement like the feathers of a hummingbird!”  
  
“It’s so light and airy. It would go so well with my favorite dress!”  
  
“It suits even your pallid complexion. No offense, dear!”  
  
“You must tell me where I can find one! Presuming no magical ancestors, of course.”  
  
In a way she was a little astonished it had worked. Within minutes they had all gone from convincing one another they saw something that wasn’t there to deciding they must have it themselves, despite being unable to see it. It all clicked into place why anyone would attend such a strange banquet, why they offered treasures and even servitude for one evening’s feast, why none of them seemed to care that nothing they consumed left them full or quenched their thirst.  
  
They were all here to be seen here by others who were powerful enough to know about it. It was all about status, showing off the right costumes and saying the right things before they went home and bragged about their evening to others. That, she imagined, would fuel the desire for others to attend. No wonder the Gourmet loved these nights so; not only was he the only one to eat, he seeded the next crop by reputation alone.   
  
So of course they’d all want an exclusive treasure they couldn’t see or touch. Exclusivity was the entire point. Marjorie supposed, knowing her background, she knew enough about jerks.  
  
“Oh, gosh,” she said in the most cloying voice she could make convincing, “I just wish I could see it myself! Especially since it’s so rare. Hardly anyone can even see it if they get the opportunity. You’re all so lucky to be blessed with such wit and good taste!”  
  
As the guests fell over one another to describe the sash in terms just vague enough to be plausible, Marjorie heard a crash. The jugglers performing on stage had missed a cue, one of them dropping a silver hoop onto the stage. At first the juggler who had failed the catch stumbled out an apology. Then he stopped and seemed to stare around, movements more alert and less sluggish, and whispered something to his equally confused partner.  
  
Then her eyes fell on the Gourmet, who was glaring at her. No, he was glaring and entranced at the same time, the hunger and greed in his expression even more pronounced than when she’d revealed the Golden Apple blossom in her hair.   
  
“That’s an…interesting sash you have there.” There was an odd lilt to the way he said ‘sash,’ contempt mixed with fascination. “Now, for the next performance…”   
  
The guests ignored him, all stealing glances at the invisible, nonexistent scarf. And as Marjorie thought might happen, the Gourmet’s hands twitched, his lips curled back and for a few seconds he once again looked unsettlingly monstrous.  
  
The Gourmet survived off of hunger and want, and he hungered for what was wanted. He probably held onto Ezra so stubbornly because the last surviving Kettle baker was a rarity. He tantalized his guests with delicacies they wanted because they were rare, not because they were all that much better than warm, fresh-baked bread. Now all those guests were distracted by their greed for the “Markenscam” sash, which meant the Gourmet had to have it.   
  
And he could never have it. He, being a fairy, had to know it didn’t exist.   
  
The cats started shuffling about, finding different hiding places. Some of them pawed at others or seemed to signal with twitching whiskers and curling tails. She had the distinct impression that Misty and her brethren might know something she did not.  
  
That was when the drop fell from the ceiling.  
  
It landed right in front of Marjorie on the table, sticky and red. At first she worried it might be blood, but the color and texture weren’t right. It was a cloying red, and smelled faintly of cherry. This the nearby guests did notice, though most returned to their conversations about their experiences with Markenscam silk.  
  
The Gourmet ignored the drop, staring at her. He didn’t seem to react when the piano music stopped, its player standing off dazed and then running in a panic for a door. He didn’t seem to care when the next performance never materialized. As Marjorie looked at him, she could see something faint coalescing around him, a little red aura of what she hoped and feared was magic seeping out of his surroundings and into him.   
  
And then he was standing next to her, smile gone.  
  
“Ah, yes! What a lovely little plan of yours. Think you’re funny, do you? Think I can’t…control…my appetites? Think I’m too corrupted, like my siblings say?” It looked like something was rippling under his clothes, like mice running under sheets. More sugary drops fell from the ceiling, one of these landing on an older man’s head and startling him. “Think I can’t remember what I really want? That I’d forget that? That-AUGH!” He stumbled back, much to the consternation of the confused guests, and held his face. “Stop! Get out of there! Do you know how much trouble it’s been to hold onto him?”  
  
He took a deep breath and smiled, showing off too many razor-sharp teeth. “My apologies, dear guests. The festivities will continue in just a…just a…”  
  
The foundation shuddered beneath their feet in a jerking, brief earthquake. The guests stood and cried out in alarm, running for shelter in several of the innumerable doors as the lights flickered and the table itself seemed to buckle and ripple. Then it melted into a blob of red sugary goo.  
  
“We thought it would happen!” Marjorie heard Misty call out. “The Catalyst! He was spread too thin! He wanted too many things at once!”  
  
“The Catalyst will be the focus,” another cat cooed. “That’s what the Oracular Cat said! The Catastrophe is upon us!”  
  
“All hail the Leafy Lady!”  
  
“All hail the Catalyst!”  
  
_Have I been manipulated? By cats?_ Marjorie stared up at the looming, furious Gourmet who seemed to grow bigger with every breath and every little palace-quake, and could only laugh. “So, this is it then! This is how I die.” She reached for the bag of herbs and clasped it in her palm. There was no way she would be able to make a run for it in her current condition. “Had by cats, eaten by a fairy fragment. Though it won’t make a difference. You can’t have what doesn’t exist! And you want it, don’t you? You can’t help it. Just look at you! Hunger’s all you are anymore, isn’t it?” She laughed again, wiping away tears. “I’ll bet you used to have a plan once. Just like them, just like Mother and Father. Well, one last request…”  
  
She scooped up a handful of the red sugary goop, threw the herb packet in there and swallowed it. It was sickeningly sweet, clearly more sugar and syrup than raspberry juice. But Philomene had instructed her to take the herbs with food. Her body convulsed and she swooned back in her seat, coughing as the blossom in her hair withered and died.  
  
One last strike to really anger him. The madder he was at her, the more likely he’d lose his grip on Ezra and fail to throw it on Basil and Philomene. Well, the Gourmet had accused her of wanting to die for someone. Maybe he wasn’t so far off.   
  
As her vision clouded, she thought she saw his shape warp and twist. She held her breath, waiting for the killing blow.  
  
Instead she heard the shattering of glass and splintering of wood as large, warm hands grabbed her and pulled her away, carrying her like a sick child. “Ezra?” she asked weakly, her breaths shallow. No wonder Philomene had been so nervous about the mega-dosage. It had worked, but it only made Marjorie feel worse. Her insides were rebelling and her head throbbed.   
  
“Shh.” The voice carrying her through a rapidly crumbling hallway wasn’t Ezra’s at all. She squinted and saw a Sky woman with pale skin, wrinkles around the eyes and white hair. She ran with a limp and seemed to wince every time she put pressure on one leg, but ran she did nonetheless. “He’s never been this bad before. I don’t know what’ll happen. The cats will lead us to your friends.”  
  
“Cats!” Marjorie laughed one more time, though it hurt her chest to do so. “They were rambling about catalysts and catastrophes and cat-this and cat-that. Are you with them? I have found myself relying increasingly on the kindness of tall strangers.” She was half-delirious, and knew it. “Oh, if I die after this, do bury me in a glass coffin reinforced with marble. That might keep the tree contained, we think…”


	35. Last Resort

_“Well, there he goes.”_  
  
“Told you, Mirror! Isn’t it great to watch? I love this sort of thing!”  
  
“Rot Witch, you were intentionally antagonizing him. Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off of you after this. But seeing as he tried to claim the Harp as his own, I have no choice but to pull my support from him. I did give him a fair chance.”  
  
“I told you he would! We shouldn’t have trusted him with important things. He’s ruled by Hunger, after all! Let’s just let him eat himself up and burn himself out. Someone will show up to wake him up again. You know, like that old lady with the gingerbread cottage did last time. I liked her style.”  
  
“You’re not even a real witch. But I suppose you’re correct. We’ll just have to see how Harp behaves when they awaken. Just don’t think of toying around with me for fun.”  
  
“Oh, I won’t! Besides, I’d say after what he did to our brother, ol’ Gourmet deserves a little hell! What do you think, sister Green?”  
  
**POOR LITTLE THING. POOR GOURMET. POOR ITTY, BITTY THING…**

* * *

“So the Gourmet was a fairy?” As he dodged a falling piece of hardened sugar, Ezra tried to reconcile his kidnapper with Basil’s two purple-skinned fairy godmothers.   
  
“Actually a piece of a fairy, if you’ll believe it! And that means we can’t exactly fight him. That is to say, we can!” Basil sounded like he was forcing optimism and bravado into his voice as he sidestepped a running cat. “But not with any hope of defeating him that way.”  
  
Ezra flashed back to the towering, spiderlike form the Gourmet had taken for a few seconds before subduing him in the ballroom. “Then how do we defeat him? I mean, should we even try!? Shouldn’t we just find Marjorie and run away?”  
  
He thought of Cecily and the cats, and shook his head. “No, I suppose we can’t. Besides, he’d just find us again. What’s happening to this place?!”  
  
The palace quaked again, the walkway railing melting into red, peppermint-scented goo. Ezra retreated back into the kitchen, Jack and Basil alongside him. The kitchen itself was a haphazard mess, abandoned aside from the four of them, with chairs overturned and food spilled every which way.  
  
Except Ezra’s own workplace, where a tiny gingerbread cake sat next to a bag of sugar and a few eggs. There was a bowl with a whisk sitting in it, untouched. Ezra stared, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did he have me make this in my ‘sleep?’”  
  
“You’re not a bad baker in your sleep,” Jack noted. Some of the mischief Ezra had heard in the human’s voice upon their first meeting was back. “Maybe you could lure him away with this.”  
  
“I can’t imagine why he bothered! I wasn’t going to do my best in a trance. Unless he really just wanted a Kettle-made dessert and didn’t care how well it was made.” Ezra stopped short. “But that makes no sense! Why push me to improve like that if the quality didn’t matter!? Just now, in my head, he was yelling at me as if I’d failed him!”  
  
“Probably because you didn’t just blindly obey him,” Basil snorted. “Come on! We should find Marjorie, I’m sure she’s got a plan-Ezra, look out!” He drove himself right into Ezra and knocked the giant aside just before a lamp hanging from the ceiling crashed to the ground where they’d been standing, its flames flickering red before vanishing and its metal framework melting into frosting.  
  
Whatever had happened while Ezra was out, it seemed to be sapping away whatever magic kept the Vacant Palace intact. And apparently, nearly everything in the Vacant Palace that wasn’t a ‘treasure,’ living or dead, was made of food. “Did he just…incorporate the things we made into the Palace? Is that where it went?!”   
  
“Wait.” That was Philomene’s voice, coming from Basil’s ring. “Can you repeat what you said just there, Ezra?”  
  
“I-the food was incorporated into the palace? For some reason?” Ezra couldn’t hide the scorn in his voice even as the very ground rippled beneath them with another quake. He leaned on the wall to steady himself. “You alright in there, Highness!?”  
  
“I-yes.” She sounded shaken in more ways than one. “Fairies affix themselves to physical entities in order to exist in our plane. He must be affixed to something in this palace and had spread his magical energy throughout it. If he’s collecting all of himself in one place, we can take advantage of that and try to seal him!”  
  
“Wouldn’t that require magic? I don’t have the harp anymore,” Jack said. “And the only magic we had is…”  
  
“…Mine.” Something clicked into place. Ezra took a deep breath, looking back at that one piece of humble, plain gingerbread waiting for icing. “It’s not ready yet, but it’s all we have, isn’t it?”  
  
Even Philomene sounded hesitant. “I think he might be using some kind of Hearth magic himself, Ezra, if everything here is made out of sweets. And we don’t have your recipes…”  
  
“I don’t need them! Right now, I mean. Do you…Basil. Jack. Princess.” Ezra looked down at them, putting one hand on Basil’s shoulder and another on Jack’s. He hoped they wouldn’t notice how he was shaking, the dread filling his body at the thought of how unlikely his victory was. “Can you help find Marjorie and buy me some time here?”  
  
“Here? In the kitchen!? But Ezra, it’s falling apart! He’s looking for you, I’m sure of it! Or all of us, if we’ve managed to make him mad.” Basil looked down. “And-and we just found you.”  
  
“I know, and that’s why I have to do this. You came all this way to find me. The Gourmet would rather trap me in my own mind than forget me like-well, I’ll explain that later. People keep doing things for me or to me, and I don’t always understand why. So I have to do something.” Ezra took a deep breath, staring right into Basil’s eyes. “And I feel safe around you. Especially you, Basil. You’re my-my Prince Charming.”  
  
He immediately regretted blurting that out like that from the way Basil stared, wide-eyed. It was the worst timing, and Ezra was sure had he not been worried about dying in the very near future he would have found a more eloquent way to express himself.   
  
Jack stepped back with a little too much spring in his step, clearing his throat. “Distraction, I can provide distraction! Besides, Pearl’s around here somewhere and I gotta find her. So, uh…!” He stumbled off into the hallway. “Good luck…!”  
  
Basil kept staring for another second until another little quake jolted them both out of it. He fell forward; Ezra caught him by the shoulders to keep Basil on his feet, and then quickly pulled his hands away. “Well-well…!” Basil stammered, clearing his throat. “With a charge like that, I can’t let you down now! I’ll face the monster myself!” He drew his sword with a big, eager grin. “I just hope you have a good idea!”  
  
As Ezra watched the prince run off and the walls around him begin to ooze, he found himself hoping the same. He turned to the counter, glad to see the eggs and a pitcher of cream still intact. He recalled everything the Gourmet had said to him, the rotting walls of the ‘forgotten’ gingerbread wing, and the words of his mother.   
  
_Put your heart into it. That’s how we make magic here._

* * *

Servants were fleeing the Palace, breaking holes in the increasingly brittle walls using any furniture that was still solid. Some were grabbing artifacts and treasures; others just left them behind. It was quite a sight to see when Basil looked down over the remains of the railing.   
  
“Basil, do you see him out there?” Philomene asked from inside her pouch. “Or Marjorie?”  
  
“I can’t tell. The dining room looks like it was abandoned.” Basil didn’t mentioned the melted puddle where a table ought to be, nor the crushed chair where Marjorie had been seeing. It turned his stomach to think about, but at least there wasn’t any blood. “I’m going to run back downstairs. He’s got to be somewhere!”   
  
Whatever else he was about to say was drowned out by the sound of the walkway in front of him shattering.   
  
As pink and red smoke cleared and the scent of raspberries and cinnamon filled the air, an enormous hand half as big as Basil himself brushed away the rest o the debris. It seemed to be covered in layers of fabric, candy stripes, frosting and gingerbread, with bits of sinew and meat peeking through at the joints.   
  
“Looking for me, then?” The voice filled the room, still as smooth as ever even with all of its mockery. The Gourmet emerged from beneath the walkway, pulling his hands back. He had swelled to a massive size, walking on eight distorted, long limbs with his body perched high atop them like a spider’s. Gone was the herb-decorated coat or the formal wear, except as some of the scraps and patches making up his body. But Basil would know that voice anywhere.  
  
“You desired to find me. I heard it. I felt it. It was delicious.” A long tongue of pink taffy ran over hard candy jaws. “And now you wish to defeat me yourself, don’t you? What a shame! A wish even I can’t fulfill.”  
  
Basil had practiced a few heroic speeches he’d make to the Gourmet upon facing him in battle. He could not remember a single one. This was not a monster he could lull with song, nor could he have overpowered it even if he’d had Aurora with him. He knew, objectively, he could not kill the Gourmet. He probably couldn’t even subdue him.  
  
The chill came from his toes and fingers, creeping over him and numbing his arms.   
  
And he ignored it. He was Ezra’s Prince Charming, after all. “You actually have no idea what I really want,” he declared as he pointed his sword at the Gourmet. “In fact, it seems you’re rather falling to pieces yourself! What happened to your party?”   
  
“My party? Your dear friend with the Golden Apple Tree growing in her ruined it. This is really all her fault.” The Gourmet hissed, molasses and syrup bubbling from his joints. “But the good news is, she’ll probably die here. And so will you. And I’ll rebuild and start anew.”  
  
“Will you, now?!” Basil leaped back as the Gourmet smashed one of his fists onto the piece of walkway Basil was standing on, grabbing the remains of a tapestry and swinging onto a higher platform. He needed to draw the Gourmet away from Ezra and, ideally, Jack.  
  
But he still had Philomene with him. He couldn’t put her in danger. Why hadn’t he thought to pass her on to Jack? Marjorie would kill him if she found out!  
  
“Princess,” he whispered into his ring. “Princess, are you safe?”  
  
There was no answer. He felt for the purse, finding nothing. It must have slipped off.  
  
The color drained from his face, and the chill stung against his face and crept into his chest. “Princess?!”  
  
He heard a rumbling laugh, and then the Gourmet’s face appeared right next to him. The spider-being was climbing up on the wall. “Oh? Did you lose something? I hope it hurts. I hope you remember it for all of your days, like a great hole in your being. Believe me when I say I hope it eats you up.”

* * *

Philomene held onto the side of the purse and prayed silently to the Vine, finding no other recourse. She hated thinking a situation was out of her control, but she knew the purse was falling and she wouldn’t survive the fall this time. She waited for an impact.  
  
The impact never came. Instead something caught the bag from above. It rocked unsteadily without a hand to support it from beneath. Philomene ignored the nausea and headache all the jerking around was getting her and cried out loud. “Basil, thank you!”  
  
Basil didn't answer.  
  
“Basil…? Marjorie? Jack, is that you? Ezra, perhaps?”   
  
All she heard was a muffled sound. It was a voice, but not a familiar one and impossible to make out amid the chaos clearly erupting around them. Her rescuer kept carrying her from above before depositing her on a solid surface, pulling the string open and letting in the light.  
  
“Oh, thank you! Listen,” she called up to her rescuer, “you need to help me find someone. Several someones, in fact! And you are a-a-a…”  
  
“Cat,” the black and white monster said in a cheerful, casual voice. “I smelled you in there and thought you might be a satchel of flowers! I do like the taste of dried flowers. But you’re not!” Her huge yellow eyes blinked. “I guess I could still eat you.”  
  
“NO! No, do-do not eat me.” So, Philomene thought, at least this was an Enlightened cat. She could be reasoned with. “Listen, I need to find someone named Marjorie. Marjorie! She’s tall, light-skinned, human, probably very sick right now…”  
  
The cat sighed. “Fine, I won’t. Happy Cataclysm Day. Oh, you mean Marjorie? The Leafy Lady!”  
  
That nickname was not encouraging, nor was the term ‘cataclysm.’ “Yes, yes. Where is she?”   
  
“She’s right here,” a voice several octaves lower boomed. A towering figure walked up behind the cat, who stepped aside. From Philomene’s angle on the floor she could barely make out a humanoid shape silhouetted by the lamplight, a massive spire that breathed and looked down at her with golden eyes and a weary expression. The Sky woman stopped before she came too dangerously close to Philomene, crouching and showing her the comparatively small human she carried in her arms.  
  
It was Marjorie, her skin pale and her breathing shallow but the leaves gone from her hair.   
“Oh, Marjorie…” Philomene wiped tears away from her face. “Please, can you help her out of here?”  
  
“Help me out where?” Marjorie’s voice was weak, but her eyes fluttered open. “Highness, please. You can’t just chase me off like that.”  
  
“Then I’ll order it! I can’t order this woman to carry you off, but you are one of my subjects and I will keep you alive!” _Please_ , thought Philomene, _think of yourself for once!_  
  
The floor shook beneath Philomene and a fissure opened on the floor. Philomene generally could not run and knew it. Instead she grabbed onto the cat’s fur, praying the beast would keep her promise, and held on until the cat plucked her by the back of her dress. One flick of the cat’s head and Marjorie found herself holding onto the smooth fur of the cat’s back as it leaped up to run alongside the Sky woman.  
  
“I think he’s gathering his power into one place. This is good for us!” Philomene imagined her rescuers could use some good news. “Maybe. Though if Ezra’s going to do something, he’d better do it soon-”  
  
“GOURMET!” Ezra’s voice echoed through the palace. It was the first time Philomene had ever heard him shout like that, a sound like an explosion. She covered her ears as the cat turned around to face the source of the noise.  
  
Ezra stood on a tenuous platform just outside of the kitchen, holding something in his hand.

* * *

Ezra took deep breaths, all of which were useless at calming his nerves. He saw Jack down at the bottom floor, leading a familiar-looking white cow and watching him from below. He couldn’t see Basil, but could hear him running above. That had to be him; Ezra had to believe he was safe. He thought he saw Cecily and the cats in a far corner, watching him; Cecily had a familiar form in her arms.  
  
He shouted again. “Gourmet! I have something for you!”  
  
The sounds of battle ceased from above. Ezra thought he heard Basil’s pained, heavy breaths as the Gourmet climbed back down the wall, turning to face Ezra with that fanged spider face of his. The Gourmet was even bigger than he had been when he attacked Ezra among the Forgotten Things, and his voice had an increasingly dissonant warble to it. But Ezra had his attention.  
  
“A gift. That.” The Gourmet pointed his taffy-tongue at the little gingerbread cake Ezra held in his hands, lovingly decorated with freshly-made frosting. “Gingerbread?”  
  
“It’s what you had me make when I was in that trance.” Ezra refused to look away from the Gourmet, even if he couldn’t stop shaking. “Isn’t it what you wanted?”  
  
“I despise gingerbread! You think I want to be reminded of gingerbread? For a second I almost remembered it again; how dreadful.” The Gourmet shook his head. “But it doesn't matter. You couldn’t give me what I wanted, what I needed so badly. I thought you of anyone could, Ezra Kettle. Why do you think I worked so hard to awaken your magic? But to those self-important windbags at the party, all that mattered was your name. You are a commodity, the last of the Kettles. A shame it didn’t work out.”  
  
So, Ezra thought, it really was all about his reputation in the end. “It doesn’t matter. I have a lot of faith and confidence in this. It’s a good dessert, and you’ll enjoy it. And I know you’re going to eat it, because you want to. Not feed it to this house.”  
  
“Am I?”  
  
“You want it because it’s delicious. It’s perfect, the right balance of ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg. It was baked to just the right level of done-ness. And the frosting is fresh; I think you’ll really like that part. It’s rare, because it’s a Kettle dessert.” He stared right into the Gourmet’s red eyes. “And it’s a gift, freely given to you. You want that, don’t you?”  
  
The Gourmet stopped and stared, seemed to sniff the air despite no longer having a nose. He stood very, very still for a moment.  
  
“…Not rare enough,” he finally said as he started climbing back towards Basil. “I can’t taste the loss in it. The loss is the best part. But I’ll enjoy plenty after I eat your friends. Let’s start with this boy here…”  
  
No, no no! It wasn’t supposed to happen that way! The Gourmet was supposed to want it because it was a gift freely given! Wasn’t that what he wanted?  
  
And then he knew what to do. There was one more, dreadful option. There was one more way to quench the Gourmet’s hunger. The Gourmet liked rarity? He’d get rarity.  
  
“Then I renounce my name.”  
  
The Gourmet stopped and froze, climbing back down again. “…What was that?”  
  
Ezra held out the gingerbread again, keeping his voice steady. One day, he hoped, his ancestors would forgive him.  
  
“This is the last masterpiece a Kettle will ever create, in all the history of the world. Because I, Ezra, last of the Kettles, in front of witnesses from the Sky and the land, hereby renounce the name of Kettle here and forevermore.” 


	36. Ezra the Nameless

The Gourmet blinked very slowly. His new form had a second set of translucent eyelids made of patterned silk. “What did you just do there?”  
  
Ezra stood on the precipice, refusing to look down or at anyone else but the monstrous Gourmet. He couldn’t meet their eyes after his declaration. “I just gave up my name in front of witnesses.”  
  
“And you are the last.”  
  
“Was the last.” Ezra held out the gingerbread cake. “You like rarity, right? And sacrifice and loss. I think I know why, but it doesn’t matter. This is the last creation of the last Kettle, offered to you without prompting before he willingly renounced the name and killed the line.” Saying that out loud made it more real; he felt his stomach twist inside and hoped it wouldn’t show. Instead he forced an unfriendly smile. “Besides, you don’t really hate gingerbread, do you? You just forgot how much you liked it because it isn’t fancy.”  
  
The Gourmet leaned in uncomfortably close, inhaling despite the lack of a visible nose. “Oh, I can smell it! I can sense how much this hurts. And it’s full of magic, too. Sloppy magic, the work of an amateur, but the effort is there. Why couldn’t you have produced work like this for me when you were under my spell?”   
  
This time, Ezra couldn’t hide his glare. “My heart wasn’t into it.”  
  
“I know what sort of magic that is. That is…that is cruel of you.” The Gourmet’s eyes widened, glinting in the flickering lights of his melting, shuddering palace. “To finally offer me this with such a catch. Disguised medicine! And yet, and yet…”  
  
In one second, he’d snapped the cake right out of Ezra’s hands with his long tongue and lapped it up. In the next Ezra felt the force of a wall slam into him from the side as the Gourmet knocked him off the platform onto the warped, but hard floor of a lower level, knocking the air right out of his chest.   
  
“And with that, you’ve lost your value,” the monster sighed. “I’ll forget you soon enough. But oh! Ohhh, this is good…”  
  
As Ezra gasped for breath and sat up, shuddering through the sharp pain in his side, he looked up to see the Gourmet holding his head up high and clasping two legs in front of him as if in prayer. Or joy, perhaps.  
  
“What is this? What did you put in this? This sweet taste, this exquisite flavor! I can’t even name it. No, it’s in the magic…” As Ezra watched, a layer of the Gourmet’s form just fell away. The candy bits melted and dissolved away, taking with them fabric and trinkets. A second layer seemed to fall just as quickly, puddling into nothing at the shrinking monster’s feet. “I remember this now! What is it, what is it!?”  
  
“Com…comf…” Ezra was still regaining his breath after his fall and couldn’t say more. He saw a pair of booted feet land next to him, and a bedraggled Basil stood next to him. His eyes were reddened.  
  
“Ezra,” the prince whispered, too small to support Ezra but placing a hand on his side anyway. He said nothing else, just staring up at the Gourmet.   
  
“Don’t tell me. It’s what I’ve wanted this whole time.” The Gourmet laughed unsteadily as he shrank. Glowing cords blossomed from within his form, starting to bind him; he did not resist. “I’m so proud of you, you wicked, miserable thing. I can’t leave this behind or forget it again. I can’t return to this awful, empty place. Nothing here excites me, nothing interests me! It all loses its light and luster; it becomes ugly and useless in the end.” He clutched his chest and laughed again. “Ah, but this. It fills the hole. It soothes the pain. This sealing spell, it’s the work of an amateur. No, a child! But I could never leave it now…”  
  
He had shrunk down to the level of a humanoid shape now. Ezra and Basil had to look down to watch him, standing in a puddle of melted candy and ragged cloth. Ezra didn’t want to think about what had become of the flesh and bone parts. Cecily was staring right at him, holding a bedraggled Marjorie; he thought he saw a tiny form sitting atop Misty.  
  
The cats who had not immediately fled for safety were approaching the Gourmet now, the ones who could speak beginning to whisper and chatter.  
  
“The Oracular Cat was right!”  
  
“He was just lucky. Someone would fill the Gourmet’s heart sooner or later.”  
  
“Don’t you mean his stomach?”  
  
“Do you see us now, Gourmet? Do you remember when you abandoned my great-grandmother?” The cat in question had four green eyes. “When she wasn’t unusual enough for you? Melt away, old man!”  
  
“What a shame,” said a very old, enormously fat rust-red tabby. “You still can’t hear us. I wanted to say goodbye to you; I miss sitting in your lap and purring.”  
  
Cecily just glared and said nothing.  
  
And the Gourmet just looked right past them, mumbling to himself as his last layers fell away. He shrank to the size of a child, then an infant. In a moment he was no taller than a cat, completely wrapped up by the magical glowing threads like a cocoon. “I remember now. That old woman, she was the first. She unsealed me with her hunger. I would have given her anything. I made a gingerbread house for her-a gingerbread house adorned with enormous candy! But then I started to hunger, and I needed more…”  
  
One big black eye opened from within the cocoon, glaring right up at Ezra.  
  
“I will dream of her here. And meanwhile, you will live on. You will never forget what you lost. Enjoy your freedom, Ezra the Nameless…”  
  
The threads tied themselves into a knot and the form shrank into almost nothing. Something fell towards the puddle before a cat leaped in and grabbed it, holding the glowing red object in its mouth. It ran off, its companions following as the palace shuddered more violently than it had before.  
  
Cecily glared down at the puddle and spat at it before she called up to Ezra. “We need to get out! His magic’s gone.”   
  
“The-the princess!” Basil looked around in panic. “I couldn’t find her…!”  
  
There was a faint, high-pitched sound. “She says she’s down here,” Misty yowled. “Don’t worry and just run unless you’re immune to being crushed!” She took off as Cecily smashed a door open and hobbled out with Marjorie.  
  
“Oh, thank the mountains. Ezra, can you walk? How did you do that?!”   
  
Ezra tried to speak and nothing came out. He just nodded in response to Basil’s first question and started towards a staircase that was rapidly melting into a slide, giving one last look around at the once-splendid Vacant Palace, now just as vacant as its name indicated.   
  
As he did, a splash of water hit him from above, pouring in from a hole in the roof. That’s what was melting the palace. It had started to rain.

* * *

Ezra stood in the pouring rain as it flowed over the parched land of the valley below, standing on the elevated path to the hill that once held the Vacant Palace. The parts of the palace that had been made of sugar or other edibles had either rotted into dust within seconds or melted into the reddish, sticky lake forming in the valley. What was left was a huge pile of the ‘treasures’ he’d collected, so numerous that they were spilling over the sides of the big hill. A grandfather clock stuck up out of the top, and the cats were swarming over it, ignoring the rain.  
  
The wealthy guests had apparently already fled through the Moonflower Gate, as had some of the former servants and performers. A few others were mulling around, watching the spectacle and whispering to one another. Many of them stared at Ezra in awe and fear. None of them said a word to him.  
  
Ezra was soaked, sore and cold, and quite sure no amount of washing would get the stickiness out of his clothing. Basil was by his side, looking just as bedraggled but somehow splendid as ever. Perhaps because it was Basil.   
  
“Ha! See? We triumphed in the end.” Basil’s enthusiasm sounded forced, or perhaps just overtired. “More or less. Ha…” He was shivering from the chilly rain. Ezra wordlessly knelt and wrapped an arm around him, fully aware it wouldn’t help much. But the shivering stopped anyway.  
  
“Did you know it would do that?” Basil asked. “Can you really do magic now?”  
  
“Yes. No. I’m not sure.” Nor was Ezra sure how he felt about it. Everything was just numb again, as it had been when he’d arrived on the Center of the Universe. But he wasn’t alone this time; surely that would help the inevitable crash a little easier.  
  
He was scanning the area for a sign of Cecily, Marjorie and Philomene. As he did, he saw one of the bigger cats climb atop the grandfather  clock and yowl.  
  
“You see? The Catastrophe has happened, and the days of glory are here! Once the rain stops.” The white cat glared at the sky. “Now this place is ours!”  
  
“It’s a heap of junk,” another cat cried out joyously. The Enlightened cats were all chiming in, singing to the sky discordantly.  
  
“A glorious heap of junk!”  
  
“All hail the new Kingdom of the Cats!”  
  
“All hail the City of Schroedinger!”  
  
“You can’t name it after yourself, you egotistical jerk.”  
  
“And hail to you, Big Double Human Ezra,” the white cat called out. “And to the Prince Who Smells Like Mint, and the Delicious-Looking but Never To Be Eaten Princess, and Miss Cecily, and the Leafy Lady! You will always be friends to the Kingdom of the Cats and may return anytime!” As he spoke, the rain started to slow. “Ah, good! It would be a shame if we established our new paradise and got rained out.”  
  
Ezra bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you,” he said honestly, though he couldn’t see himself visiting a massive junkyard very often. A shame that all that art ended up broken and forgotten in the end. “Have you seen the others? The Leafy-erm, where’s Lady Cecily and Misty?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the other nicknames without feeling strange, especially the one given to poor Philomene.  
  
“I’m right here!” Misty appeared over the edge of the hill, with Cecily’s tall form rising behind her after. Ezra ran back up the path to meet them, he and Basil helping Cecily climb down the edge of the junk heap as she held Marjorie.  
  
Philomene was holding onto Misty’s fur, coughing. “Raindrops are dangerous around here! But Misty and her friends shielded me a bit when we escaped. These cats aren’t so bad. Are you quite alright, Ezra? When you’re ready, I simply must ask how you did that! That was spectacular!”  
  
“I’m glad you’re safe, Princess.” Ezra nodded down to her and scratched Misty’s ears as a reward as Basil retrieved Philomene. He turned to look at the pale, weak-looking Marjorie. “Is-is she…”  
  
“I’m fine,” Marjorie said, her voice hoarse as she opened her eyes. “For the last time. I’m feeling much better than I did ten seconds ago, darling. Not lying this time. We have much to discuss, but first I need a bath and at least 12 hours of beauty sleep.”  
  
“Marjorie,” Ezra blurted out, finally reunited with his first friend as Cecily handed her over to him. “I’m sorry! About the apple and-”  
  
“Shh.” She held her hand up. “If you apologize like that I’ll just get a headache. None of these cats are going to be stupid enough to eat silver apple seeds, and I’m sure the rest of it is quite gone by now. So we’ll consider it destroyed and water under the bridge, so to speak. Think nothing of it.” She smiled. “Oh, and never again take anything of mine without permission or you will regret it in ways you cannot even imagine, dear Ezra. But everyone gets a freebie.”  
  
“Right,” he stammered, looking away. “Listen, I-what I did is-what this means is…”   
  
“Hey!” Jack came running around from another side of the heap, leading an elderly, bony white cow with a black spot. “Sorry to disappear there, I had to get Pearl somewhere safe. I’m so glad you’re all alright!”   
  
The cow had the harp strapped to her back. When Ezra gave a questioning glance towards it, Jack’s smile faded and he shuffled his foot. “I found it in the rubble. Intact like that, and it just looked so lonely. Do you want it back?”  
  
Ezra just shook his head, crouching near Jack and managing a little smile. “I’m glad you’re safe, Jack.” Jack looked just as tired as he was, and moved as if to lead the way back to the gate.  
  
“Wait! Before you go,” one of the cats insisted, “we have something for you.”  
  
Another, the one that had jumped across the puddle, opened its mouth and deposited its prize in Basil’s hands. It was a red, round candy ball, somehow intact and unaffected by all the water. It glowed with something flickering inside, swirling around like a tiny storm.  
  
Basil stared at it. “This is…him. He’s in there. This must be the object he anchored his form to originally. I suppose everything else was just an addition, like clothing.” He stopped to shake a piece of wet cloth off of his boot. “We should get this to my grandmothers as quickly as possible, I should think. They’ll know what to do with it. And also I think we’re all quite tired and I’m very, very cold. Ezra, are you…”  
  
“I’m fine,” Ezra snapped, immediately regretting the tone. “I’m fine,” he repeated more gently. “You all went through a lot more and lost more in order to save me. It’s really just a name…” It wasn’t. He knew it, and he knew at least Cecily would, too. But she kindly didn’t bring that up.  
  
As they retreated towards the gate in a wet, bedraggled and messy-looking sort of victory march, Ezra carrying Marjorie and sticking near Basil to keep him warm and Philomene riding in Basil’s free hand, Ezra turned back to wave to Misty. “Um, thank you,” he called out, unsure of what else to say. “I’ll come visit sometime! I promise!”  
  
“Bye, Ezra Nameless!” She said it innocently, so he hid his wince. “Take care of Cecily Lady for us! Bring me back some boots when you visit!”  
  
“Boots?” another cat asked.  
  
“Well, I’ve always wanted boots…”

* * *

A shattered mirror flickered, deep in the bottom of the new, massive junk heap. “They sealed the Gourmet? And they have the Harp?”  
  
The broken glass statue of a mushroom glowed softly. “So they did! His own fault, though. He couldn’t resist whatever that was. We may have to change tactics, Sister.”  
  
The cracked orb with a flower inside made a curious sound. Then all three went dark and silent. 


	37. Three Questions

After the group had rushed back through the Market to the forest, they’d made a beeline for Basil’s cottage. Between Marjorie’s weakness, Philomene’s fatigue and Basil’s injuries only making the chill from his damp clothes worse, they all wanted to huddle under the dome of heat magic and sleep.   
  
When Basil was cold, it was hard to concentrate on anything else. The rest of the night became a fog, one beset with brief memories of shivering, changing clothes and collapsing onto a mess of quilts on the floor after insisting Marjorie take the bed. Only as he hefted a full cauldron of porridge with honey out to his two Sky guests for breakfast would he remember what he’d meant to ask Ezra.  
  
“Ezra! Are you sure you’re alright? And what did you do back there?!”  
  
Ezra yawned. “Good morning to you too, Basil.” He and Cecily had both slept outside on the grass again. They did so without complaint, though Basil still felt like an inadequate host. At least Ezra seemed to have slept well. He already looked a bit better, the bags under his eyes fading and a little color returning to his cheeks. Cecily was still asleep, curled up a slight distance away.   
  
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude.” Basil rubbed the back of his neck and then resumed dragging the heavy cauldron over. “And I’m sorry we don’t have two large plates; you’ll have to eat out of the pot. But we’ve got spoons!” They were big wooden spoons.   
  
“Oh, let me get that!” Ezra reached over to the cauldron, only to pull his hand away quickly and wince. “Ow! Ow ow, hot. Are your hands alright?”  
  
Wiping sweat from his brow with his wrist, Basil grinned proudly. “A little human like me might not be as strong as you two, but there are advantages to feeling cold all the time. S’nothing but a bit warm to me.” Still, he found he had to catch his breath by the time he’d set the cauldron down again.   
  
Ezra stirred the porridge gingerly and took a mouthful, glancing down at Basil after. “I can’t dodge those questions for very long, can I?”  
  
“No.” Basil crossed his arms. “The three of us thinking you were alright when you weren’t probably contributed to this whole mess in the first place. And you can’t seal an Other One who frightened my grandmothers with gingerbread and not explain how you did it.” He exhaled slowly. “And after that I may ask you one more thing, if you’re up for it.”  
  
“I admit,” a tiny third voice added, “I am dying to know exactly what you did. I could see at least some of it from my angle, and it was incredible!”   
  
Philomene flew out on the back of Melchior, who had been hiding at the fairy cottage after the incident with Mother Wolf in case the poor giant house suffered any more misfortunes. The huge, fuzzy moth landed on Marjorie’s finger as she followed. She still looked even paler than usual, but she was back on her feet and moving without pain. A night’s sleep, as well as the instructions Basil could vaguely recall Philomene giving the fairies before he went to bed, must have done her wonders.  
  
He was happy to see them both up and about, though it would make asking the third question more awkward.  
  
Ezra gave them a little nod, too, stirring the porridge idly. “I hope Cecily wakes up soon, or she’ll have a cold breakfast. The journey was a little hard for her, with her bad leg and all.” He gave a worried glance over his shoulder at the sleeping giantess, her white hair falling over her face.  
  
“Right,” he added as he looked back down at the others. “No more dodging the questions. The answer is: I don’t know.”  
  
Basil blinked. “What don’t you know?”  
  
“How I feel. Or what I did. Well, no. I have a little bit of an idea there.” Ezra’s eyes took on a distant look. “When we were in that dream-trap and we had to link our minds, a lot of memories flowed through my head. Including some of my own, and some of his. Gourmet’s, I mean. A lot of feeling isolated and longing for something familiar. Like comfort food.” A rueful little smile crossed his lips. “I hate that I related to that, but I did. And I remembered something my mom used to tell me all the the time when she was alive. She said when she cooked for the family, it was different because she put her heart into it.”  
  
“I figured that was just a saying,” he continued. “But it clicked into place. The reason I could remember her making things for me that weren’t very fancy or fashionable, but they were different. Like nothing else I’ve had since. And that recipe for the custard I tried out, the ones the Gourmet had me try, they were all about invoking a sort of feeling or sentiment while I cooked. I thought maybe that was the key. So when I whipped up the icing for the gingerbread, I just thought about safety and comfort. You know, the things he made me feel guilty about wanting when he talked to me in the market.” The giant scowled, stirring the porridge far more than he was eating any of it. “He took that sense away from everyone else he preyed on because he didn’t have it. And I channeled it into the food, and I guess it acted like a seal.”  
  
Basil had to admit, some of it was going over his head. “So you put the spell into the food without any recipe whatsoever?” He thought of the ruined cookbooks and a pang of guilt hit him in the stomach. “Oh, the cookbooks…”  
  
Ezra shook his head, his voice softer. “Violet told me last night. It’s…fine. I’m mostly relieved you faced Mother Wolf and lived.”  
  
“Wait. Sentimental infusion. Of course!” Philomene clapped her hands, sparing Basil from having to talk more about Mother Wolf. He liked to think she was doing it intentionally, though he wasn’t sure. She steered Melchior to hover in the center of the group so she could speak to all of them more readily. “The recipes were probably all just examples of what you could do once you’d mastered the technique. You unlocked the general key to Hearth Magic! It’s got to be in emotion and sentiment, infused into something consumable that’s transformed through the act of baking or cooking. The possibilities are endless!”  
  
“I-I wouldn’t say mastered!” Ezra crouched respectfully as he spoke to Philomene, clearly doing his best to make eye contact.   
  
“Yes, but you’ve made progress. That’s half of it! Ezra K-” The princess caught herself, though Basil saw Ezra flinch. “Ezra, I know it’s rather sudden and we’re all going to need a little bit of time to recover. But would you come with us to Thumbelina?”   
  
“Thumbelina? Your kingdom? But-but I don’t think I know any tricks that would work on a plant invasion! The Gourmet was a person. Whose thoughts I heard,” Ezra added with an uncomfortable glance aside. “I want to help you, like I said I would! But what could I do right now?”  
  
“Well, I’m not sure the Green Witch could be described as a person. At least,” Marjorie said, her voice a little hoarse, “not as far as we could know. But maybe you could help wake up the sleeping Flower Folk. Break that curse. It’s a start. Besides, you boys wouldn’t turn down a royal invitation by Her Highness, would you?”  
  
“No, no!” Ezra stammered. “I just-well, I’ll do my best! I promise!”   
  
Basil perked up there, stepping forward. “Boys? So you still need my assistance too, Princess?” He gave a little bow, trying not to show how his heart was beating. He doubted Philomene would leave him behind or reject his earlier vow, but he had to admit he had no idea what he could do against an enemy like this Green Witch. He didn’t have any magic, and he barely held his own against the Gourmet.  
  
Philomene chuckled. “Of course! We don’t know what sorts of monsters might be lurking under the Green Witch’s watch by now, and you’ve got a sword to cut through brambles and vines.” She gestured for Basil to lean in close to her, whispering as best a Flowerling could whisper to a human. “Besides, Ezra will be quite unhappy if you don’t go.”  
  
Feeling himself turn a little red, Basil grinned and stood up straight again. “Then it’s settled! Jack’s coming by later to say goodbye to us. He’s going to return to his home and then start a life as a traveling bard with that harp of his in order to set the record straight about his adventure. Or at least tell some other stories to offset it.”  
  
“He’s still toting that thing around?” Ezra huffed, rolling his eyes. “Maybe it behaves for him, but I still don’t trust it. I really hope he stays out of trouble this time…!”  
  
A low, slightly rumbling but feminine voice spoke up behind Ezra. “Did you say you’re traveling?”  
  
Ezra stood up so quickly the ground rumbled a little when he did, turning to face the approaching Sky woman. “You’re awake! Thank you again for saving Marjorie, Cecily. And for everything else. Everyone, this is Cecily Chulainn.”   
  
“Oh, so that’s the name of my mystery savior!” Marjorie stepped forward and curtsied. “If you ever need it, always remember Marjorie Snow owes you a favor. Erm, did you say Chulainn?”  
  
Before she could say more, Cecily held up a hand and shook her head. “I’m not going to take it back, honest. Now that the Gourmet’s been sealed, some of the memories he stole from me are coming back. I remember now what it is I lost. It was my husband.” She sat down on the tree stump and stared off past the cottage. Basil noticed her hands shook a bit. “He’s the one who cast the spell on that bedroom to keep me safe while he went out to chop wood in the forest. One day he didn’t come back, and after a day or two I went after him. I don’t remember everything yet, but I know I was looking for him when the Gourmet found me. I have a sense he’s still wandering out there somewhere. Young Miss Snow, if I might take that favor from you earlier, could you allow an older gal like me to travel with you down to the south? If I can’t find him in one of the cities down there, maybe I can at least find something to do with myself.”  
  
Before he could stop himself, Basil belted out, “you’ll find him! A lost husband isn’t so different from a lost princess, which is exactly the sort of mission Prince Charming would take on. I promise I’ll help you find him!” Some part of him warned he was making promises he couldn’t keep, but he’d already promised to save everyone in front of Mother Wolf. Why stop now?    
  
Cecily stared down at Basil, and then gave what Basil could only describe as a deep chuckle. “Well, I can’t say you’re not a gentleman. I needed that sort of optimism. Thank you, my brave young escort.”   
  
Grinning in a way he knew was a bit foolish, Basil gave her a little bow.   
  
Marjorie seemed to be whispering something to Philomene. She cleared her throat, turning to Cecily. “Mrs. Chulainn, darling, shall we see if we can’t find you something to wear? Violet and Lavender know the most spectacular textile spells. Not quite sure why, but apparently dress-alteration is a hobby of theirs. I’m sure they can adjust something to your size.”  
  
She gave Cecily a look Basil didn’t quite understand, though Cecily seemed to recognize it. “I’m still all in rags, aren’t I? I’d almost forgotten. Thank you, young lady. I would appreciate that very much.” She hobbled off after Marjorie and Philomene, leaving Basil and Ezra alone again.  
  
Ezra watched the women leave, apparently just as baffled, and collapsed onto the tree stump with a sigh. “She didn’t eat anything! She’s going to have cold porridge for lunch at this rate.”  
  
“Some people like it that way,” Basil reminded him.   
  
The young giant just made a disapproving sound and wrinkled his nose. “Well, they’re wrong.”  
  
The two remained there in the garden for what felt like a solid minute, unsure of what to say. Basil found it strangely difficult to even make eye contact, and his throat was dry when he spoke again.  
  
“The first question. You said you don’t know how you feel?”  
  
Ezra nodded slowly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s more like I have a whole lot of mixed feelings warring with one another. As far as restoring the family legacy goes, I’m not sure I could have failed more spectacularly. I killed the line of Kettle.”  
  
“Yes, but you did so in a glorious way. And I’m not sure the last Kettle working himself to death for a corrupted fairy would have been a better end,” Basil said. There was a little bit of room on the big tree stump as Ezra was sitting on the edge of it, and it was just enough for Basil to sit there next to him.   
  
“That isn’t what they’d say up there.” Ezra looked skyward, and Basil could see the longing in his eyes. “But I don’t think I want to go back there at this point. I’m not Ezra Kettle anymore.” He shifted over to face Basil over his shoulder. “You corrupted me.”  
  
“I-I did what?” Basil was a little too confused by the accusation to take offense.   
  
Perhaps it was something in his expression, but Ezra actually broke out in a little laugh. “It’s a good kind of corruption! I think. And not just you. I guess I was always a little chaotic.”   
  
“You’re afraid of fish! And _I’m_ the chaotic one.” Basil held his nose up high, and then let the ruse fall. “But I’m glad you’re staying, Ezra. You’ll like the world. I’ll make sure of it.” And there went another promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.  
  
They fell silent again. Without meaning to, Basil realized he was leaning against Ezra. Even in this magically-heated garden, designed to ward off Basil’s freezing curse, he felt warm all through his body.  
  
“Basil?”  
  
Ezra’s voice jolted Basil out of his lull, and he sat up straight. “Yes?”  
  
“What was that third thing you wanted to ask me about?”  
  
He had intended to ask Ezra what was meant by ‘you’re my Prince Charming.’ After all, Ezra hadn’t grown up hearing stories of Prince Charming the way Basil had, sitting at the knees of his fairy godmothers. That name could mean something completely different to Ezra. But Basil had a feeling that he already knew.   
  
Instead he stood up on the stump, gesturing for Ezra to crouch down a little. Once they were face-to-face, he reached to take Ezra’s huge hand in his own. He looked up into Ezra’s gold eyes, wide as saucers, the giant’s dark skin flushing slightly red.   
  
“Prince Charming is ever well-mannered, and _your_ Prince Charming is a gentleman. I admit I have no idea how it’s going to work, or if this sort of thing is quite common, and I know I can be a bit ignorant of others’ feelings, but if you and I-Well, I have never courted anyone before, but-I’ve read some poetry, and…”  
  
“I don’t know anything about courting either,” Ezra blurted out. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to bake you some berry tarts.” Basil had never heard him speak so quickly. He hadn’t pulled his hand away, either. “That’s what I always figured I’d do if I had a-a courting person. Make them things.”  
  
“I-I like making things! I mean, having things made!” Basil wondered where all of his carefully-cultivated charm had gone. His own face felt hot too. “I mean, tarts. You know me and sweets.”  
  
“I like poetry.”  
  
“I’ll write some!” And Basil had a feeling it would be horrible, and didn’t care.  
  
“I don’t know anything about making this sort of thing work, either. I’ve heard of humans and Sky Folk-I mean I’ve heard of them baking tarts and writing poetry for each other, I suppose.” Ezra was actually smiling again, still speaking entirely too fast. “And we’ll…help a princess save her kingdom together?”  
  
“I couldn’t imagine starting on a better note!” Basil wrapped his arms around Ezra’s shoulders. It took a bit of work; Basil made a note to find an easier way to do that next time. “And…”  
  
“And…”  
  
And for the third time that morning, the two of them forgot whatever it was they were about to say.


	38. First Interlude

“And you stayed to fight, General?”  
  
Empress Valerian left the faintest smile on her face, holding a white-gloved hand to her mouth as she listened to the general’s account. That was the only part of her face General Nottingham was allowed to see, for she wore a half-mask of black and white feathers which curled into  her white hair. Eye contact with the Empress was a court honor the general no doubt thought she deserved for her bravery, but had not yet earned.   
  
“Well, naturally, Your Eternity. Of course, there was only so much I could do against such a monster. I am, after all, only a mortal.” General Nottingham remained kneeling before the white wooden throne, her black and gold uniform standing out against the stark white walls of the throne room. The color contrast was calculated to create mild discomfort in petitioners and visitors granted an audience, an intentional effect. It made it harder to lie undetected. General Nottingham was, of course, lying; Valerian could tell from the way the silver-haired woman shifted her weight around and fidgeted.   
  
“…But you know,” Nottingham continued when Valerian neither spoke nor moved in response, “I would lay my life down for your sake if I thought for one moment he was a threat to you. Alas, the man known as the Gourmet was simply serving himself. He seemed to show no greater ambitions that I could find. A strange creature to be certain, but a dilettante at heart, not much different from the spoiled noblemen Your Eternity put to work for greater causes.” She raised her eyes at Valerian’s mask, a drop of sweat running down her forehead.  
  
Valerian did not have to consider her response. She had calculated it from the moment Nottingham arrived. Nonetheless, she stayed silent and motionless for a moment before rising to give her answer, the pearls and opals hanging in her dress shimmering in the glow of the silver and white candelabra illuminating the throne room.  
  
“We are pleased with your report, General Nottingham. You have never failed to live up to our expectations of your bravery and cunning. We grant you time to recover from your ordeal.” Valerian allowed a more genuine-looking smile to cross her painted lips. “We are certain your grandchildren would love to hear tales of the late, glamorous Vacant Palace.”   
  
Relief crossed Nottingham’s features before she rose, sneaking a slight glance at the silent, silver-clad sentries standing on either side of the imperial throne before she retreated with her chest puffed out. Valerian waited until the heavy doors of the throne room had shut before stepping off of the dais. The sentries reacted without being told, carefully stepping aside to reveal a mother-of-pearl circle set in the wall depicting the royal seal. Valerian placed her hand on the seal, ignored the faint tingle against her skin, and a panel opened up in the wall just big enough for her to duck into in full regalia.  
  
She let the door slide back automatically as she lifted her heavy skirts, beginning to descend down a narrow staircase illuminated by yellow glowing crystals jutting out of the wall. If anyone tried to follow her, the sentries would kill them. It was inconvenient to descend in the ball gown and diadem marking the Empress, but she felt no need to take the time and change clothing.   
  
She did not dislike things, per se. The idea of “liking” something suggested a degree of subjectivity Valerian did not grant herself. She did reach conclusions and hold carefully-considered preferences one could mistake for opinions, and those opinions carried a great deal of weight in her empire. Valerian herself would phrase her opinions formally as “approval.”   
  
Therefore, it was more accurate to say she did not approve of lying. She understood its purpose and engaged in it herself when necessary, but lying merely to ingratiate oneself with a greater power invoked in Valerian a sense of dissonance. It was logical, but unwise. She would let the general think her lie was believed, or at least accepted, because Nottingham served a purpose underneath all her old soldier bluster. But Valerian needed objective truth and information the way an overindulgent party-guest would seek out water the next morning.   
  
The crystals grew larger as the stairway descended, eventually becoming hexagonal pillars criss-crossing just above Valerian’s head. The black heels of her boots clicked softly against the floor as she stepped through a doorway that was more of a great crack in stone. Here the entire great chamber pulsed, illuminated by the massive crystal sliced in half to serve as a platform.  
  
Here there was no throne at all, merely a simple wooden desk, humorously out-of-place with its surroundings. On the desk sat a heavy tome and an o-strich-feather quill. Valerian sat down at the desk unceremoniously, pressing her finger against the mother-of-pearl lock and opening the book.  
  
The pages were, as usual, empty. And as it always did, it filled the chamber with thousands upon thousands of glowing golden threads, hanging above Valerian and pulsing with refreshing, purifying clarity and information. They wove among one another, tangled and knotted together in patterns, like a great net.  
  
Valerian, lapsing into near-motionlessness as she immersed herself in the glow of the threads, turned to the still figure standing against the wall.  
  
“M-16-28-14. Report.”  
  
The Marionette emerged from where it had been waiting, still as death, since its retrieval from the Gourmet’s palace. The Flowerling it had been attending in the guise of a Carrier had abandoned it, which was not Valerian’s concern. It still wore its drab, gray uniform, stained with splashes of peppermint pink and candy red. It no longer bothered projecting an illusion of human skin. There was no need to waste that level of magic in an already-damaged model.  
  
It would not lie.

* * *

The Oracular Cat (who had never bothered choosing another name for himself, thinking the title was descriptive enough) sunned himself, belly-up on a torn cushion at the top of a junk heap. After the rains, the Sky Island hovering over the wastelands had moved on, for reasons known only to the Island and its inhabitants. Or, the Cat thought, perhaps just the wind, which had finally returned to the desolate valley with the rains. The Great Cat whose breath brought the breezes favored the City of Cats, or so others claimed. The Oracular Cat did not particularly care about the approval of Great Cats.   
  
Something smelled sweet in the air. It was the unpleasant sweetness of rot, not unusual in a junkyard but different this time. The Oracular Cat rolled his head over to his left, spotted the target, and sighed.  
  
Forcing his rotund body upwards, he trotted over to the little silver sprout already poking its way up through the remains of a grandfather clock. He clamped his few teeth around it and pulled, snapping the sprout in half. Then he walked to the edge, towards the new lake forming in the valley below, and dropped it off in there.  
  
He hoped he’d remember to keep doing that as it grew back, though his memories were not as reliable as they used to be.

* * *

“Can’t believe no one’s submitted a claim for this place.” Sarelli looked around the former residence of Hamilton Tooth, draped over with white linens to keep the dust away. Dried-out dough and pastries had been cleared out weeks ago before they could mold over, but the bakery was otherwise untouched. She and her partner had been sent to prepare the location and the leftover property for public auction. “Wasn’t Tooth held in pretty high regard around here?”  
  
“’Round here, sure.” Cameron sneezed, covering his mouth and scowling. “Ugh, must still be flour around here. Or dust.” He walked over to examine the broken remains of a chair thrown into the corner, and frowned. “They really should have just demanded the arrest of that human. I don’t think the servant guy did it, if we’re being honest here.”  
  
Sarelli raised an eyebrow. “Well, he assisted a human, right? A sympathizer, if nothing else. What do you mean ‘round here?’”  
  
“Well, I didn’t see much of the guy myself. But Hamilton Tooth must not have been on the best terms with his relations. They declined any claims on his property after his death. Rumor has it he was involved in something?” Cameron gave a heavy shrug. “Sounds like he could’ve been next up for Exile if they dug anything up. Awful convenient that human showed up when he did and the servant took the blame, isn’t it? And now we can’t demand the right to arrest the human because the Empress pardoned him. Why’s she get to do that?!”  
  
Sarelli ran a hand down her face. She hated this duty normally, and it put her in the worst mood for Cameron’s conspiracy theories. “She can do that because we’re scared of her, alright? No one will say that, but everyone knows it. And everyone wants to pretend it’s all closed and done with because that’s how things are done around here. Stability.” She practically spat the word out.  
“Anyway, I doubt Tooth had some kind of a master plan that ended in his death. Who knows, maybe the rest of the family’s involved in something and they don’t want the authorities looking in. We’re bureaucrats; it’s not our…”  
  
Cameron must have noticed how Sarelli had fallen silent as she opened the door to the garden. She didn’t take another step.  
  
The beanstalk had sprouted not far from the garden; in its wake it had left something of a scar in the Cloud, a dark smudge assumed to be the liquid material inside the Cloud healing itself.   
  
If it was a scar, it had grown infected overnight. The dark smudge had split open, welling up with blackish sludge that smelled of rotting foliage. The ooze was trickling over the remains of the garden. In its wake, a line of mushrooms the size of Sarelli’s hands sprouted, their caps still shut like bulbs. At the maw of the scar, vivid, deep-green vines grew, creeping outward like grasping hands.   
  
The vine, improbably, sported one great red rose.  
  
“…Not our jurisdiction,” Sarelli murmured as she backed away. “Go alert the constable and the mayor. Send notices by bird to Vox. Not our jurisdiction…”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the conclusion of The Exiles Ever After: Book One! This was originally posted on Jukepop starting in...I believe 2014, and can also be found on Wattpad.   
> I'll start crossposting Book 2 soon; possibly even tonight? It's much longer than Book One.   
> If you've read this far, thank you so much and I hope you've been enjoying the story! Thanks for giving my original work a chance. All comments, kudos and links are much appreciated.   
> For more information, fanart and updates, check out exileseverafter.tumblr.com.


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